Duty Bound
by Windchime68
Summary: In the 30th year of the Dragon Age, two Grey Wardens stand against the Blight, determined to do whatever they must in order to end it. This is their story. Rated M to be safe. f!Cousland/Alistair
1. The Couslands of Highever

**The Couslands of Highever**

_A/N: I make no claim to any of the characters in this story – they belong to others, and I simply borrowed them for a while. I hope I didn't tarnish them in the process. _

_This is a retelling of the main events of the game from the point of view of a Cousland Warden, and as such will include spoilers for the human noble origin and the entire game. There will also be occasional segments from Alistair's POV in later chapters. Much – although by no means all – of the dialogue will be taken from the game._

_There aren't going to be any big surprises or any dramatic changes to the storyline, but I hope showing the events through my character's eyes will add enough to make it at least a little bit interesting to others. This story was originally written for myself only, but I've been encouraged to post it, so here it is. If you want to read more, please let me know!_

_Rated T for now, but might go up to M in later chapters._

_Any comments/reviews will be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading._

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oOo

Alessa Cousland hesitated for a moment outside the main hall. Normally she would answer a summons from her father without delay, but she was less eager to greet his guest. Arl Rendon Howe might have been her father's friend for countless years, but she had always disliked the man; there was a meanness in his eyes sometimes that unsettled her.

She hoped he hadn't brought his family this time. His mousy wife was pleasant enough, but she didn't say much, and never seemed to be happy. And his children... Alessa grimaced. Delilah looked down her nose at... well, just about everyone, but especially Alessa, who failed to meet her rigid standards of "how a lady ought to behave". As for the taciturn Thomas – in spite of an apparent dislike of Alessa that he had never troubled to hide, during his last visit he had taken to watching her in an almost predatory manner which made her skin crawl. And to make matters worse, she suspected the arl entertained ideas of the two of them marrying – a notion Alessa viewed with great distaste. Only the younger brother, Nathaniel, despite his occasional dark moods, was ever good company – but he had been in the Free Marches for a few years now.

She couldn't put this off forever. With a heavy sigh, she pushed open the door and entered the hall.

The two men were reminiscing about old times as Alessa walked up to them. It was Howe who noticed her first, and at his glance her father turned his head, smiling.

"I'm sorry, pup," Teyrn Bryce Cousland said. "I didn't see you there." He looked at his guest. "Howe, you remember my daughter, of course?"

Howe bowed slightly to Alessa, his eyes raking her from head to toe. "I see she's become a lovely young woman," he commented to the teyrn, in a tone that made her want to shudder. "Pleased to see you again, my dear," he added to Alessa.

She smiled politely to cover the insincerity of her reply. "And you, Arl Howe." She glanced around the room. "Is your family with you?"

"I'm afraid not," Howe answered, and Alessa relaxed fractionally. "But my son Thomas asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him with me next time."

Alessa couldn't help herself. "To what end?" she asked neutrally.

"Ha!" Howe barked a laugh. "'To what end', she says! So glib, too. She's just like her mother when she talks like that."

Alessa frowned; she wasn't sure she liked the idea of Howe talking about her mother that way.

Her father, however, didn't seem to mind. Casting an indulgent smile on Alessa, he said, "See what I have to contend with, Howe? There is no telling my fierce girl anything these days, Maker bless her heart."

"Mmm," Howe murmured, his tone disapproving. "No doubt because you've trained her as a warrior."

"At any rate, pup," the teyrn said to Alessa, "I summoned you for a reason." If he'd heard Howe's comment or noticed his tone, he wasn't acknowledging it. "While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

"But, Father!" Alessa protested. "Can I not go into battle with you and Fergus?"

Bryce Cousland smiled gently at her. "I'm certain you'd more than prove yourself, but I am not willing to deal with your mother if you join the war. She'd have my hide if I let you go. She's already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going."

Alessa sighed. Anyone who knew Eleanor Cousland knew that arguing with her once she'd made up her mind about something was futile. And Bryce Cousland was not likely to defy his wife on this.

_It was so unfair_, she thought. Like many Fereldan noblewomen, Alessa's mother had trained in fighting skills, just as Alessa herself had; by all accounts she had been very capable, too. Eleanor had always maintained that it was the 'softer arts' that had caught her husband's eye, but from the admiring way that Bryce Cousland spoke of his wife's talent for archery and her ability with a sword, Alessa privately doubted her mother's assessment.

Now, however, she seemed to think only of marrying Alessa off to some noble's son. She disapproved of the amount of time her daughter spent on her swordplay, and would never agree to Alessa going off to fight against darkspawn.

Alessa sighed and bowed her head. "Very well, Father. I'll do what you think is best."

"That's what I like to hear," the teyrn said, smiling. "Now, only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

Alessa nodded.

"There's also someone you must meet," her father said. Turning to a guard, he added, "Please, show Duncan in."

The guard exited through the door on the far side of the hall, and Alessa waited curiously; she hadn't been aware that they had any guests besides Howe and his retainers.

The guard soon returned, escorting a dark haired man. He wore armour that Alessa judged to be well-made – and also clearly well-used in spite of the elaborate designs chased into the breastplate – and bore a sword and a dagger in crossed scabbards on his back. He was not young, and his bearing spoke of one experienced in battle, while his eyes held the wisdom earned from those battles.

The man bowed to her father. "It is an honour to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland."

"Your Lordship," Howe interjected petulantly. "You didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

_A Grey Warden? Here? _Alessa involuntarily drew herself up in respect.

"Duncan arrived just this morning, unannounced," the teyrn replied, sounding surprised at Howe's evident annoyance. "Is there a problem?"

"Of course not," Howe said, glancing at Duncan. "But a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am... at a disadvantage."

_How typical, _Alessa thought. _Most would simply be honoured to be in a Grey Warden's company, but Howe thinks only of a missed opportunity to show himself off to his best advantage._

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing a Grey Warden in person, it's true," acknowledged the teyrn. "Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

"Of course, Father." Those had been some of the more interesting lessons. "They defeated the darkspawn long ago."

Duncan smiled faintly. "Not permanently, I fear."

"Without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could have been overrun before we'd had a chance to react." Her father paused, and added, "Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Grey Wardens in the south. I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

_Oh_. Alessa was equal parts proud and disconcerted at the news. Ser Roland Gilmore was the most skilled of her father's knights. Alessa had known him most of her life, ever since his father had sent him to squire for the teyrn as a young boy; he'd trained alongside Fergus, and had often encouraged Alessa in her own training in the arts of battle. For many years, he'd been almost like a second brother to Alessa – but, of late, she'd begun to wonder if he might not become something else.

It was all Fergus' fault. Alessa would never have started to think that way about the knight had not her brother begun to tease her about the long, lingering looks that Roland had supposedly been casting in her direction lately. Alessa still hadn't decided how she felt about that, except that it made it incredibly awkward to be around the man now.

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. She could just imagine how her mother would react to the idea of a teyrn's daughter being courted by a mere knight, even one as trusted and honourable as Ser Gilmore.

It was a pity, really. Roland had far more to commend him in Alessa's eyes than many of the useless noble suitors her mother had tried to throw in her path, some of whom could barely swing a sword.

"If I might be so bold," Duncan spoke, breaking into Alessa's thoughts, "I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate."

Three heads turned towards the Grey Warden in shock.

Bryce Cousland recovered his equilibrium first, and took a step forward, as if to place himself between Alessa and Duncan. "Honour though that might be, this is my daughter we're talking about." His tone was polite, but chilly.

Alessa remained silent, too surprised to speak out.

"I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle," her father added. His expression grew guarded. "Unless... you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?"

Alessa's eyes flicked from her father to the Grey Warden. The Right of Conscription was rarely used in Ferelden, she remembered from her lessons. She wondered what her father would do if Duncan decided to invoke it now.

"Have no fear," Duncan said reassuringly. "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

The teyrn relaxed noticeably, and turned to Alessa. "Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Of course."

He nodded. "In the meantime, would you find Fergus, and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me?"

"Yes, Father. Do you know where he is?"

"In the chapel, perhaps," her father replied. "Or, more likely, upstairs in his chambers – spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson." He smiled at Alessa. "Be a good lass and do as I've asked. We'll talk more soon."

Alessa would have preferred to stay and speak with the Grey Warden, but she bowed to the three men and took her leave.

She went to the chapel first, but, unsurprisingly, Fergus was not there. Of all the Couslands, Fergus was perhaps the least devout.

Mother Mallol was praying with two of her father's soldiers. Alessa bowed her head respectfully, and after the prayer was finished, the cleric approached her. "Have you come to pray for your brother and father? I'd be happy to ask for the Maker's blessings with you."

Alessa didn't consider herself especially devout, but her father and Fergus were going off to fight darkspawn, after all. A little divine intervention couldn't hurt. "I would appreciate that, Mother Mallol." She knelt, and Mallol repeated her blessing. When she had finished, Alessa thanked her and left in search of Fergus.

As she rounded a corner, however, a familiar voice startled her.

"There you are, my lady," Ser Gilmore said. "Your mother told me the teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

Alessa turned to the flame-haired knight with an awkward smile. "You were looking for me?" She'd been planning to speak to him before he left with her brother and the rest of the teyrn's men, but hadn't yet had the opportunity to seek him out.

Or perhaps she'd been unconsciously postponing it.

"I fear your hound has the kitchens in uproar again," Ser Gilmore laughed, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Oh," Alessa said, feeling faintly disappointed, and then silently berating herself for her foolishness.

"Nan is threatening to leave," he added, more seriously.

She sighed. Nan would never actually leave, of course – the cook was just blowing off steam, not for the first time. But Alessa was going to have to smooth some ruffled feathers, it seemed. "Did Dane get into the larder again?"

He nodded. "No matter how the maids try to keep him out, he always finds a way in." He smiled. "You know Mabari hounds; he'll listen to his mistress, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

Alessa shook her head. "He knows better than to hurt anyone."

Ser Gilmore shrugged. "You're probably right, but I'm not willing to test that." He sighed. "You're quite lucky to have your own Mabari war hound, you know. 'Smart enough not to talk', my father used to say. Of course, that also means he's easily bored."

Alessa nodded, grinning. "Nan swears he confounds her just to amuse himself."

Ser Gilmore laughed. "At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?"

Feeling slightly annoyed that her mother felt she needed a personal guard for such a matter, Alessa responded only with a nod.

"To the kitchen then," Ser Gilmore said, gesturing for her to take the lead. "I think I can hear the yelling from here!" As he fell in behind Alessa, he added in an amused tone, "When Nan's unhappy, she makes sure everyone knows it."

Nan was indeed screeching at a pair of elf servants when they entered the kitchen. Ser Gilmore took a step toward her. "Calm down, good woman. We've come to help—"

"You!" the cook interrupted him. "And _you_!" she added furiously, turning on Alessa. "Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!"

Ser Gilmore glanced nervously at Alessa; he'd never been able to get used to Nan speaking that way to the teyrn's daughter. Alessa just smiled. Nan had been her nanny long before she'd been the castle's cook, and Alessa was used to the woman's ways. Her bark had always been worse than her bite. "He's not a mongrel, he's a pureblood Mabari," Alessa pointed out tolerantly.

"A blight wolf is what he is!" Nan huffed. "How am I supposed to work like this? I'll quit! I'll go cook at some nice estate in the Bannorn."

"Nan, please," Ser Gilmore said soothingly. "We'll get the dog. Calm down."

Nan shooed the elves out of the way and then crossed her arms, muttering darkly under her breath. With a sigh, Alessa entered the larder with Ser Gilmore following.

"Look at that mess," Ser Gilmore groaned, gazing at a sack that had been split, its contents spilling out onto the floor. "How did he even get in here?"

Dane – named so by Alessa for the legendary hero said to have owned the pack of wolves that the Mabari war dogs were descended from – was indeed inside. At Alessa's entrance he barked excitedly at her, then bounded towards the corner of the larder, growling.

Alessa frowned. "What it is it, boy? Are you trying to tell me something?"

Ser Gilmore glanced at the dog, and then at Alessa. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?" He looked round sharply at a sound from the corner. "Wait, do you hear that?"

Dane barked again, and started scratching in earnest at some sacks in the corner. Disturbed by the dog, a whole pack of giant rats suddenly streamed out from behind them, snapping at them.

Instinctively, Alessa drew her sword, silently thanking the Maker that she'd answered her father's summons directly from her training, instead of changing first. Ser Gilmore already had his own sword out, and between the two of them and Dane, the rats were swiftly dealt with.

"Giant rats," said Ser Gilmore, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell." He looked at Alessa. "Your hound must have chased them in through their holes. Looks like he wasn't raiding the larder after all."

Dane barked enthusiastically in agreement, and Alessa smiled. "So it seems."

They returned to the kitchen, and one of the elves shrieked as she caught sight of the mess behind them. "Oh, mistress! There are rats in the larder! Big ones!"

Nan rolled her eyes. "I suppose you're going to tell me that dog killed them?" she said, sounding unimpressed. "Hmph. I bet he led the rats in there to begin with."

Alessa exchanged a glance with Ser Gilmore, and shook her head when he opened his mouth to speak.

Dane whined, and Nan looked at the dog scornfully. "Oh, don't even start with the sad eyes. I'm immune to your so-called charms."

Dane whined again, and the woman's expression softened. "Here, then. Take these pork bits and don't say that Nan never gives you anything! Bloody dog..." She walked off, muttering, and Alessa grinned at Ser Gilmore. It wasn't the first time she'd seen Dane win over the cook that way.

Ser Gilmore shook his head in amusement as they left the kitchen. "Too smart to talk, indeed." He slowed to a halt and turned to Alessa. "Now that the crisis is resolved," he said with a wry smile, "I'd best be on my way; I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men."

"Should you not be preparing to march with my brother?" Alessa asked in surprise.

He sighed. "I would be, were it my choice. Your father has decided I should remain with the complement guarding the castle." He sounded a little disappointed; he would never openly question his teyrn's orders, but Alessa knew he couldn't be happy about watching others go off to war while he remained behind..

"I hope it's because this Grey Warden wishes to see me," Ser Gilmore added, and Alessa nodded distractedly. One way or another, the knight seemed determined to leave. Perhaps she was just being foolish, after all, and the attachment she'd fancied that he felt was simply in her head, conjured up by Fergus' teasing remarks.

"What will you do if the Grey Wardens try to recruit you?" she asked, to distract herself from such thoughts.

"I take great pride in serving the teyrn, my lady," he answered seriously. "Still, if I had the opportunity to join the Grey Wardens, I wouldn't hesitate."

"You would leave my father's service?" Alessa asked sadly. If nothing else, she would be sorry to lose such a good friend.

Ser Gilmore nodded. "With his blessing, I imagine. Joining the Wardens is the highest service one can render." His eyes shone, and Alessa smiled. His pride at the prospect of being recruited was clear, and she couldn't help but share in it.

"And what of you, my lady?" he added.

"Me?" Alessa asked, confused.

Ser Gilmore smiled. "What if this Duncan tries to recruit you? Have you thought about it?"

"Oh." Her thoughts went back to Duncan's earlier comments on the subject. "He did say he thought I would make a good candidate... but my father told him no, and that was an end to it." She laughed self-consciously. "I think perhaps he was only being polite, in any event. Why would the Grey Wardens want to recruit me?"

"Begging your pardon, my lady," Ser Gilmore replied, his tone suddenly earnest, "but you are no ordinary noblewoman. You're strong, skilled, and easily the equal of any man, on the field or off. The Grey Wardens would be fools to overlook you."

Alessa looked at him in surprise. She'd rarely heard such fervour in his voice. "I... thank you."

He reddened slightly. "It's too bad your father will not allow it. It's unlikely that the Wardens would risk your father's wrath." He drew himself up. "Your pardon, my lady, but I must take my leave – there is much to be done."

"Of course," Alessa said, and he bowed to her before spinning on his heels and striding off.

With a sigh, Alessa headed up to the family's private rooms in search of Fergus. As expected, she found him in his chambers with Oriana and little Oren.

"Is there really gonna be a war, papa?" Oren was asking. "Will you bring me back a sward?"

Fergus smiled at his son's mispronunciation. "That's 'sword', Oren. And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."

"I wish victory was indeed so certain," Oriana said quietly. "My heart is... disquiet."

"Don't frighten the boy, love," Fergus said gently. "I speak the truth." He noticed Alessa waiting in the doorway, and smiled at her. "And here's my little sister to see me off. Now dry your eyes, love, and wish me well."

"I'm intruding," Alessa apologised. "I will wait outside."

Fergus shook his head. "Stay. I'd like to say farewell."

Alessa walked swiftly to her brother and hugged him. "I wish I could go with you."

"And I wish you could come!" he grinned. "It'll be tiring, killing all those darkspawn myself."

Alessa punched his arm lightly for his teasing tone, and he laughed.

"In Antiva, a woman fighting in battle would be... unthinkable," Oriana frowned.

Fergus raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Is that so? I'd always heard Antivan women were quite dangerous."

Oriana smiled affectionately. "With kindness and poison only, my husband."

Fergus chuckled. "This from the woman who serves me my tea!" They all laughed.

After a moment, Alessa recollected the reason she'd come. "I bring a message – Father wants you to take your men and go ahead without him."

Fergus nodded soberly. "Then the arl's men are indeed delayed. You'd think they were all walking backwards." He sighed. "Well, I'd better get under way then." He turned to his wife. "I'll see you soon, my love."

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave," Bryce Cousland interjected from behind Alessa, and she turned to see both her father and mother entering the chambers.

"Be well, my son," Eleanor Cousland told Fergus. "I will pray for your safety every day you are gone."

"You could have delivered your message yourself, Father," Alessa pointed out in amusement.

He smiled at her. "And miss having both my children in one place before we leave? Not likely."

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all," Oriana said. "Watch over our sons and husbands, brothers and fathers, and bring them safely back to us." She gazed at Eleanor and Alessa, who both nodded back at her.

"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it," added Fergus. He caught his wife's disapproving glance, and coughed. "Err... for the men, of course."

"Fergus! You would say this in front of your mother?" chided Oriana, and he grinned at her, unabashed.

"What's a wench?" asked Oren, causing his father to cough again, this time to cover up a snort of laughter. "Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

Fergus reddened, and it was the teyrn who answered. "A wench is a woman that pours the ale in a tavern, Oren." He paused, then added with a grin, "Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

"Bryce!" exclaimed their mother. She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes at Oriana. "I swear, it's like living with a pair of small boys."

Fergus chuckled. "I'll miss you, Mother dear." He turned to Alessa. "You'll take care of her, 'Lessa, won't you?"

Alessa smiled. "I think Mother is more than capable of taking care of herself."

Fergus nodded. "That's true. They should be sending her, not me. She would scold those darkspawn back into the Deep Roads." He winked at Alessa, who couldn't help grinning back at him.

"Well, I'm glad you both find this so funny," huffed their mother.

"Enough, enough!" laughed their father. "Fergus, it is time, my son."

Fergus nodded, and then hugged everyone once more.

"I'll miss you, little sister," he murmured to Alessa. "Take care of everyone... and be here when I get back."


	2. Treachery

**Treachery**

Alessa awoke with a start to the sound of Dane barking angrily. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes wearily. The Mabari was barking and growling at the door, all his hackles raised.

"What's wrong, boy?" she asked the dog, puzzled. "Do you hear something out there?"

Dane growled some more. Suddenly the door burst open, and one of the servants rushed in, terror in his eyes. "My lady!" he cried. "Help me! The castle is under attack!"

Before Alessa could react, she heard the sound of an arrow being released from a bow, and the servant collapsed forward into her room, the arrow protruding from his chest.

Alessa had barely enough time to snatch up her weapons before the poor man's attacker dashed into the room, another arrow already nocked to his bow. He grinned unpleasantly when he saw Alessa – perhaps thinking, correctly, that her nightgown would offer little in the way of armour. Or perhaps, given his leer, he had other thoughts on his mind.

Either way, he had little time to dwell on those thoughts. The Mabari leapt at the man, snarling, and his arrow flew harmlessly past Alessa's shoulder. She ran him through while he was distracted by the hound, showing him no mercy – he'd shown none to the unarmed servant.

Swiftly Alessa dressed and buckled on her armour, and then cautiously peered out into the hallway. Two more men were outside her mother's door, trying to beat it down. With a sharp cry Alessa charged towards the men, her sword drawn, and Dane flew towards them as well.

The fight was short. With the intruders lying dead at her feet, Alessa took a swift step towards the door. "Mother? Are you all right?"

She heard the bolts on the inside of the door being drawn back, and then the door was flung open and her mother rushed out, wearing her own armour. Her bow was slung across her back. "Darling! I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst! Are you hurt?"

Alessa shook her head. "I'm fine. What's going on?"

"A scream woke me up," her mother answered. "There were men in the hall, so I barred the door." She looked grimly at Alessa. "Did you see their shields? Those are Howe's men!"

Alessa snapped her head round to look at the dead men, and realised with horror that her mother was right.

"He's betrayed us!" she gasped furiously. "He attacks while our troops are gone!"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed. "You don't think... Howe's men were delayed on purpose? Oh, that bastard! I'll cut his lying throat myself!" She caught Alessa's hand. "Have you seen your father? He... he never came to bed!"

Ice formed in the pit of Alessa's stomach. "No, I haven't. I was asleep."

"We must find him!" Eleanor cried anxiously, and Alessa nodded.

As they ran down the hall, Alessa noticed with alarm that the door to Fergus' chambers stood open. Holding out her arm to warn her mother back, she dashed to the door, sword at the ready... and stopped dead, her hand at her mouth.

Oriana and Oren lay dead on the floor, blood pooling around them.

"No!" wailed her mother in horror behind her. "My little Oren! What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?"

"Why... why would they do this?" Alessa moaned.

Her mother turned to her in a panic. "Howe's not even taking hostages! He means to kill all of us! Oh, poor Fergus..."

Alessa put a hand on her arm. "We have to go, Mother. We can't stay here."

Her mother looked at her blankly for a moment, and then seemed to come to her senses. "You're right. We must find your father."

As they reached the ground floor of the castle, sounds of fighting echoed from all directions. Eleanor grabbed Alessa's arm. "Do you hear that? They must be everywhere!"

Alessa swallowed her fear. "You should return to your room, Mother. I don't want you in danger."

Her mother's eyes flashed angrily. "My only grandchild is a ravaged corpse, and my husband is missing. What do I care about danger?" She took a breath to calm herself. "The front gates. That's where your father must be."

"Then we head there," Alessa nodded.

"Wait," her mother said. "We must be sensible about this. If we can't find your father—"

"We'll find him," Alessa interrupted. She wouldn't even think of the alternative.

But her mother shook her head. "Darling, you must listen. There isn't much time. You _must_ get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here."

Alessa started to protest, but her mother ignored her and carried on, "If Howe's men are inside, they may already control the castle. You must use the servants' entry in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?"

Alessa shook her head. "No! I won't leave without you and Father." She clenched her jaw. "And I want Howe dead."

"Then survive," her mother said grimly, "and visit vengeance upon him!"

Reluctantly, Alessa nodded. There was no denying the wisdom of her mother's words. And someone had to get to Fergus, to warn him of the treachery.

They soon found, however, that getting to the larder was no simple task. They passed bodies of Howe's men and Cousland guards alike, and had to fight no few of Howe's men themselves. And when they neared the kitchen, they found the passage entirely blocked by a blaze that seemed to have started from a shattered lamp.

Alessa looked apprehensively at her mother. "We're going to have to go through the main hall."

_The hall that opens onto the courtyard leading from the main gates._

Eleanor took a deep breath, and nodded.

They fought their way to the other side of the main hall, and then, with a glance at her mother, Alessa threw the door open.

As she'd feared, the hall was crawling with Howe's men. But they were not alone. Ser Gilmore was also inside, fighting Howe's men along with the remaining castle guards.

It was painfully clear that they were losing.

With a fierce cry, Alessa charged in to join the fight with her hound at her side, and bare seconds later her mother followed. Their numbers evened the odds, and Howe's traitorous forces had no one to match Ser Gilmore's or Alessa's skill. The tide quickly turned, and soon the traitors all lay dead.

"Go!" Ser Gilmore cried to the remaining guards. "Man the gate! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!" He turned to Alessa and her mother. "Your Ladyship!" he said breathlessly. "My lady! You're both alive! I feared... I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!"

"They did," Alessa said grimly.

"They killed Oriana, and Oren..." her mother added dazedly. "I still can't believe..."

Alessa frowned, noting that Ser Gilmore was clutching his side. "You're injured?" she asked quietly. "Let me see."

He shook his head resolutely. "Don't worry about me, my lady. Thank the Maker you two are unharmed." He paused to take an uneven breath. "When I realised what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won't keep Howe's men out long. You both need to get out of the castle, now!"

"Come with us, Rory!" Alessa cried.

Ser Gilmore's eyes widened momentarily at her use of his pet name – a name she'd used often when they were children, until she'd been discreetly reprimanded by the teyrna for her informality – and then his surprise gave way to a sad smile. "If I do that, my lady, you won't make it out before the gates fall. My place is here."

Alessa shook her head mutely, but she could tell from the determined look in his eyes that he would brook no argument.

"Please," he begged her, urgently. "Go now while you have the chance!" He turned to Alessa's mother. "When I last saw the teyrn, he'd been badly wounded. I urged him not to go alone, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen – I believe he hoped to find you at the servants' exit in the larder."

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore," Eleanor said. "Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all," he responded quietly, his eyes locked on Alessa.

Eleanor caught hold of her daughter's arm. "Darling, we must go now!"

Alessa hesitated, still unwilling to leave the knight behind.

Ser Gilmore nodded at her. "Go, my lady. I will follow, once you have had time to get out of the castle."

Alessa took in a deep breath. It was a comforting lie, nothing more – they both knew it. But she went along with it anyway. What other choice was there? He would not leave, of that she had no doubt. And if she stayed, they would both die for nothing. "Be sure you do," she said quietly, holding his gaze for a moment more before allowing her mother to pull her away.

They met little resistance on the way to kitchen. It seemed the main bulk of Howe's forces were still outside the castle gates, being held at bay by Ser Gilmore and the rest of the guards.

Alessa's heart leapt into her mouth as they entered the larder. Teyrn Bryce Cousland was lying on the floor, hand clasped to his stomach, blood all around him. For a moment she feared they had arrived too late, but at the sound of their entry he raised his head. "There... you both... are," he gasped. "I was... wondering... when you would get here."

"Maker's blood, Bryce, what's happened? You're bleeding!" Eleanor Cousland rushed to her husband's side, and Alessa knelt beside them, trying to summon her wits.

Her father's injury looked bad. Very bad.

The teyrn raised himself onto one elbow with a great effort. "Howe's men... found me first. Almost... did me in right there."

"We need to get you out of here!" cried Alessa.

Her father smiled at her through gritted teeth. "I... I won't survive... the standing, I think."

"Then we will stay and defend you," Alessa said determinedly.

"No," he replied quietly. "Someone... must reach Fergus. Tell him... what has happened."

Alessa looked down wordlessly, knowing her father was right, but unable to acknowledge it.

Howe would surely have something planned for Fergus too. There was no point to any of this if he allowed a Cousland heir to survive. She had to find her brother, to warn him.

But not at the cost of her father's life. Who could make that kind of choice?

"Bryce, no!" her mother pleaded. "The servants' passage is right here. We can flee together, find you healing magic..."

The teyrn shook his head. "The castle is surrounded. I will not make it, and with me slowing you down, they will surely catch us all."

"I'm afraid the teyrn is correct," a deep voice agreed. Startled, Alessa reached for her sword, before realising that the new arrival emerging from the servants' passage was the Grey Warden she had met earlier. "Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past will not be easy."

"You are... Duncan, then?" Eleanor asked. "The Grey Warden."

He inclined his head fractionally. "Yes, your Ladyship. The teyrn and I tried to reach you, but we were cut off by the fire."

"My daughter got us both here, Maker be praised."

Duncan smiled faintly at Alessa. "I confess, I am not surprised. She is a remarkable young woman."

Any response Alessa might have made was forestalled by the distant sound of steel meeting steel beyond the kitchen door. They all looked at each other, and then Eleanor exclaimed, "They are coming!"

Alessa's father reached up to grasp the Grey Warden's arm. "Duncan... I beg you... take my wife and daughter to safety!"

Duncan nodded. "I will, your Lordship. But... I fear I must ask for something in return."

"Anything," rasped the teyrn.

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world," Duncan said. "I came here seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

Bryce Cousland bowed his head. "I... I understand."

Alessa looked from one to the other. "Wait... Are you talking about _me_? I thought you came for Ser Gilmore!"

Duncan looked at Alessa. "Truthfully, _you_ were always my first choice." He turned to her father. "I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the king what has happened. Then, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens."

Bryce Cousland met his eyes sombrely. "So long as justice comes to Howe... I agree."

Duncan turned to Alessa. "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

Alessa shook her head, unable to fully process this new development. "I will see Rendon Howe dead first!"

Duncan's gaze did not waver. "We will inform the king, and he will punish Howe. I am sorry, but a Grey Warden's duties take precedence even over vengeance."

"Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to... advance himself," her father added. "Make... him wrong, pup. See that... justice is done!" He breathed in raggedly. "Our family... always does its duty... first. The darkspawn... must be defeated. You _must_ go. For your own sake... And for Ferelden's."

Alessa bowed her head. "I will, Father. For you."

Duncan nodded. "We must leave quickly, then."

"Wait..." The teyrn gestured weakly towards the sword that lay on the floor beside him.

Eleanor leaned over and picked it up, her eyes widening. "The Cousland family blade!" Her eyes darted to meet her husband's gaze.

Bryce turned his head towards Alessa, smiling grimly. "This sword... has been in... our family... for generations. It must not... be allowed to fall... into Howe's hands."

"It should sever his traitorous head!" Alessa's mother agreed

"It is... yours now, pup," the teyrn said. "Take it, and... use it well. Use it in the service... of Ferelden. Of the Grey Wardens."

"Bryce..." Alessa's mother put in, hesitantly. "Are you sure about this?"

The teyrn met his wife's eyes. "Our daughter... will not die of Howe's treachery. She... will live, and make her mark on the world."

Eleanor nodded slowly and turned to Alessa, holding out the sword. "Go with Duncan, darling. I will stay with your father."

Alessa froze in shock as her hand closed around the sword's hilt. "What?"

"Eleanor..." the teyrn protested.

"Hush, Bryce," his wife said quietly. "I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

"Mother, please, no!" Alessa cried.

The teyrna smiled sadly at her. "My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond."

Alessa opened her mouth to protest, but the calm determination in her mother's eyes stopped the words in her throat. "I love you both so much," she whispered instead, tears in her eyes.

"Then live, darling," her mother told her. "Become a Grey Warden, and do what is right."

Bryce Cousland looked at his wife. "I'm... so sorry... it's come to this, my love."

Eleanor embraced him. "We had a good life, and did all we could. It's up to our children, now."

He looked up at Alessa. "Then, go, pup. Warn your brother."

There was a resounding crash from the depths of the castle, and Duncan looked round, listening.

The teyrn barely seemed to hear it. "Know that we love you both." He took a shuddering breath. "You'll... do us proud."

Duncan gripped Alessa's arm gently but firmly. "They've broken through the gates. We must go, now."

Alessa blinked away her tears and let Duncan pull her to her feet, the family sword grasped firmly in her hand. As they fled through the servants' passage, Alessa heard her mother's voice behind her.

"Goodbye, darling."


	3. Ostagar

_A/N: For those who have read this far, thank you for your interest and patience. The first two chapters were a little slow, and in hindsight I wonder if I shouldn't have started the story here instead of covering the origin story. _

_I hope you'll find that things get more interesting from here on._

* * *

**Ostagar**

"We must journey south," Duncan had told her, as they slipped through the Highever woods, "through the Hinterlands, to the ruins of Ostagar, on the edges of the Korcari Wilds."

The days since then had blurred into one. Numbed by her grief, Alessa simply followed Duncan; they talked little at first, and he respected her choice to avoid all mention of the events that had led to their journey. Travelling as lightly as they were – by necessity, since there had been neither time nor opportunity to gather any supplies – they made good time. Sooner than she had expected, they approached their destination.

Alessa regarded the ruins in awe. "This must have been an impressive fortress, once."

Duncan smiled at her. "The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago, to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands. It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we now face a different foe within that forest. The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. They know the Grey Wardens are here."

"Are there many Grey Wardens gathered here, then?"

Duncan sighed. "There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here." He looked sombrely at Alessa. "This Blight must be stopped, here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."

As Alessa and Duncan passed through what must once have been the main gates of Ostagar, a handsome man – resplendent in golden armour that matched his golden hair – moved forward to greet them. "Ho there, Duncan!"

It was King Cailan.

"Your Majesty!" Duncan exclaimed in surprise, reaching out to clasp the king's arm in greeting. "I didn't expect a—"

"A royal welcome?" the king asked with a smile, his eyes dancing with merriment. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty," the Grey Warden answered, with a slight smile of his own.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all!" the king said enthusiastically. "Glorious!" He glanced curiously at Alessa. "The other Wardens told me you'd found a promising recruit. I take it this is she?"

Alessa blushed slightly under the king's scrutiny, and Duncan nodded. "Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

"No need," King Cailan said with a smile. "You are Bryce Cousland's youngest, Alessa, are you not? It has been many years since last we met."

Alessa bowed self-consciously. "I am, your Majesty."

"Your brother has already arrived, with Highever's men," the king said. "But we are still awaiting your father."

Alessa swallowed convulsively past the sudden lump in her throat. "My… my parents are dead, your Majesty. We were betrayed – by Arl Rendon Howe." She spat the name like a curse.

"Dead?" cried Cailan. "What do you mean? Duncan, is this true?"

"I'm afraid so, your Majesty," Duncan confirmed. "Teyrn Bryce Cousland and his wife are slain. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Castle Cousland; I was there when it happened." He glanced at Alessa. "Had we not escaped, he would have killed us also, and then told you any story he wished."

King Cailan looked horrified. "I... can scarcely believe this. How could he think he would get away with such treachery?" He turned to Alessa. "As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word on this."

Alessa took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"No doubt you wish to see your brother," the king added kindly. "Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds."

"But he may be in danger!" Alessa cried in alarm. _If some agent of Howe's finds him first..._

The king smiled sadly. "We are all in danger, my lady. Nothing can be done until your brother returns, and that will not be until the battle is over. I apologise, but there is nothing more to be done. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

"What would you know about my grief?" Alessa cried out without thinking, her emotions overwhelming her.

Duncan hissed through his teeth. "Your Majesty, I apologise—"

"Don't worry, Duncan," King Cailan interrupted. "I understand the pain of loss. And I'm sure the young lady is tired from your journey, as well." He smiled gently at Alessa, and her anger ebbed away, leaving an aching emptiness behind. "Have you any news before I go?" he asked of Duncan.

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week," Duncan said.

"Ha!" exclaimed the king. "Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters already, and tomorrow should be no different."

"I didn't realise things were going so well," Alessa commented, then belatedly remembered whose company she was in and added, "Your Majesty." His friendly, informal manner made it all too easy to forget you were talking to the king of Ferelden.

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight," Cailan replied. "There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" Duncan asked dryly.

King Cailan smiled easily at him. "I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do." He sighed and bowed to them both. "I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!" He walked off, his honour guard trailing him.

Alessa looked at Duncan, her eyebrows raised in question, and he sighed. "What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

"Yet you don't sound very reassured," she commented astutely.

Duncan lowered his eyes. "Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us." He sighed heavily. "I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

"Why not? He seems to hold the Grey Wardens in high regard."

"Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais," Duncan sighed. "He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable." He shook his head. "Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can, and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference." He smiled slightly at Alessa. "To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

"What do you mean? What ritual?"

"Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden," Duncan explained. "The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon."

"Why is this ritual secret?" Alessa asked warily.

"The Joining is... dangerous. I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn in all good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done is necessary."

Alessa nodded reluctantly. She didn't much care for the secrecy, but if Duncan said it must be so, she was willing to believe him. There was something about the man that inspired such trust. "What do you need me to do?"

"Get some rest, if you wish. Feel free to explore the camp here, also. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being." He gestured over the massive stone bridge that crossed the gorge separating them from the main Ostagar ruins. "There is a Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out. He will summon the other recruits."

Dane barked, and Duncan glanced down at him. "Your hound can stay with me. I will see to it that he is fed by the kennel master here."

Alessa nodded. Duncan walked off across the bridge. Dane whined at Alessa, and she pointed after Duncan with a smile. "You heard the man." The Mabari barked, and trotted obediently after the Grey Warden.

Alessa sighed, feeling suddenly more alone than she ever had before, and slowly followed them into the main camp.

At first she wandered aimlessly around the camp, bemused by the bustle of activity. She listened for a while to an officer instructing a group of soldiers on the nature of darkspawn and the differences between genlock and hurlock, and then headed deeper into the camp to look for the Warden that Duncan had told her to seek out. She was not exactly eager to find out what this Joining ritual entailed, but neither could she see any sense in postponing it. And she would take any distraction from the painful memories that the conversation with King Cailan had brought to the surface.

As she walked, a silver-haired woman called out to her. "Greetings, young woman. You are Duncan's newest recruit, are you not? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Wynne, one of the mages summoned by the king."

Alessa nodded politely to her. "Pleased to meet you, Wynne. I am Alessa."

"Well met," Wynne said warmly, "and good luck to you on the battlefield." She smiled. "To us all, in fact."

Alessa moved on, and her attention was captured by a young man, armed with bow and arrows, talking to a young woman who appeared to be one of the soldiers. As she drew close to them, she overheard enough to tell that the young man was making a clumsy – and completely unsuccessful – attempt to woo the woman. Or perhaps merely to seduce her. Either way, the woman simply gave him a scornful look, and walked off.

Alessa smiled to herself and was about to walk away herself when the man turned and saw her. He looked her up and down and smiled roguishly. "Well. You're not what I thought you'd be."

Alessa frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He laughed. "Oh, me and ser knight were just betting on what the third recruit would be." He grinned appreciatively at her. "Not a woman, that's for sure. And yet, here you are."

"You're one of my fellow recruits, then?" Alessa asked.

He nodded. "The name's Daveth. The other recruit, Ser Jory, is around somewhere – but he's much less fun than I am." He flashed her another smile.

Alessa didn't return his smile – the man seemed harmless enough, although he wasn't half as charming as he thought he was, but she wasn't about to encourage him. "I'm Alessa."

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Alessa," Daveth said, with a small bow. "And if I might say – it's about bloody time you came along. I was beginning to think they cooked up this ritual just for our benefit."

"What do you know about the ritual?" Alessa asked curiously.

He gestured her to move closer, and lowered his voice. "I happened to be sneaking around the camp, last night, see – and I heard a couple of Grey Wardens talking. So I listen for a bit." He glanced around, and added, "I'm thinking they plan to send us into the Wilds."

"The Wilds?" Alessa repeated, slightly disappointed. "I was expecting something more – interesting."

"Oh, the Wilds can get interesting enough, don't you worry about that," Daveth said. "Cannibals, beasts, witches, and now darkspawn? Those Wilds are a scary place."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Alessa said. "We'll just need to watch each other's backs."

Daveth's gaze travelled down towards her hips. "Oh, I'll watch your back." He chuckled.

Alessa stiffened. "Take care you don't get distracted while you do."

He laughed, undeterred by her cold tone. "I'll try to keep my wits about me. Anyway, I expect it's time to get back to Duncan. That's where I'll be, if you need me for anything."

"Wait," Alessa called after him, and he turned back. "I'm supposed to find a Warden called Alistair," she said. "Do you know where he is?"

Daveth nodded. "I saw him a few minutes ago, heading to the north end of the camp." He pointed.

Alessa thanked him, and headed in the direction he'd indicated. Amongst the ruins at the northern end of the camp, she spied a young warrior with short, reddish-blond hair approaching a mage, and she headed towards them.

As she neared, the mage turned to see the warrior, and frowned. "What is it _now_?" he asked, in an exasperated tone. "Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

So the warrior _was_ a Warden, and likely the one she sought. Not wishing to interrupt the conversation, she hung back to wait.

"I... simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage," the Warden said, looking and sounding extremely uncomfortable. "She... desires your presence."

"What her Reverence 'desires' is of no concern to me," the mage said crossly. "I am busy helping the Grey Wardens – by the king's orders, I might add." His tone had become haughty.

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" the Warden asked, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smirk.

The mage grew angry. "Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!"

"Yes," nodded the Warden. "I was harassing _you_, by delivering a message."

"Your glibness does you no credit," the mage replied in annoyance.

"And here I thought we were getting along so well!" the Warden said sarcastically. "I was even going to name one of my children after you. The _grumpy_ one."

"Enough," sighed the mage in exasperation. "I will speak to the woman if I must." He turned on his heels and strode towards Alessa. "Get out of my way, fool," he said with a glare.

Alessa hurriedly stepped aside, and then turned to see the Warden walking towards her. "You know," he smirked, "one good thing about the Blight, is how it brings people together."

"Sorry, what?" Alessa asked, momentarily distracted by her first good look at his face. Part of the distraction was his tawny eyes; Alessa was certain she'd never seen their like before. But there was also something oddly familiar about the man, as if she'd seen him somewhere before – and yet, she was sure she hadn't.

He reminded her of someone, she decided, but she couldn't quite recall who.

"Oh, nothing," he said. "Just trying to find a bright side to all of this. Wait, we haven't met, have we?" He shook his head, answering his own question before Alessa could speak. "No, I think I'd have remembered you." He smiled warmly, his eyes dancing with humour. "Just tell me you're not another mage."

"Do I look like a mage?" Alessa said, laughing and gesturing at her own armour.

He grinned. "No, I suppose not." His eyes widened a little as he noted the quality of her armour, and his gaze drifted to the scabbard that held her sword, marked with a small Cousland crest. He looked at her with sudden realisation. "Wait, I _do_ know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit, from Highever, right? I should have recognised you straight away, I apologise."

"How could you recognise me?" Alessa asked in surprise.

He smiled. "Duncan sent word. He spoke quite highly of you."

Alessa blushed slightly and nodded. "I'm Alessa. And you must be Alistair. Duncan told me I was to find you."

Alistair smiled, his eyes twinkling, and bowed his head politely. "Had he also mentioned how pretty you were, I would have come to find _you_."

Alessa blushed even more, but she met his gaze steadily. "Do you talk so to all the new recruits?" she challenged.

He threw his head back and laughed. "Maker, I hope not! The other recruits are both men!"

Alessa couldn't help laughing with him.

"And yes, I'm Alistair," he confirmed, smiling. "I'm the newest Grey Warden – as the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining." He paused in thought. "You know... it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

"You want more women in the Wardens, do you?" Alessa asked in a teasing tone, arching her brows at him.

"Would that be so terrible?" Alistair grinned. "Not that I'm some drooling lecher, or anything," he added hastily. "Please stop looking at me like that." He cleared his throat self-consciously. "So, I'm curious – have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

Alessa smiled to herself, and went along with his clumsy attempt to change the subject. "No, I haven't."

"When I fought my first one," he said, suddenly deadly serious, "I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to facing a horde of them." He shook himself slightly. "Anyway, I'm to see that you have everything you need before we return to Duncan. Are you hungry?"

His words reminded her that it had been a long time since she last ate. "Yes, actually."

He gave her an enthusiastic grin. "Let's do something about that, then."

oOo

Fortified by bread and cheese – Alistair's eyes had lit up when he'd seen the cheese and he'd taken some for himself, too – they headed back towards the Grey Wardens' tent. As they walked, curiosity got the better of her. "That argument I saw... what was it about?"

"With the mage?" Alistair asked, and Alessa nodded. He laughed a little uncomfortably. "The Circle is here at the king's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are." He cleared his throat. "Which puts me in a bit of an awkward position." He gave her a slightly nervous smile. "I was once a templar. The Chantry raised me until Duncan recruited me six months ago."

Alessa's eyes widened, and she nodded slowly. "Ah. I can see how that might be awkward."

Alistair sighed heavily. "I'm sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult – sending me as her messenger – and the mage picked right up on that." He shook his head. "I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we're all to co-operate and get along." He rolled his eyes. "Apparently, they didn't get the same speech."

Duncan looked round as they approached the Grey Wardens' tent. "You found Alistair, did you? Good. I'll assume you are ready to begin preparations." He cast a severe look at her companion. "Assuming, of course, that you're quite finished riling up mages, Alistair."

"What can I say?" the younger Warden shrugged, a little defensively. "The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

"She forced you to sass the mage, did she?" Duncan asked in a disapproving tone. "We cannot afford to antagonise anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

Alistair looked chastened. "I apologise, Duncan." He looked around briefly. "We're missing someone, I see. I'll go collect him." He walked off, his shoulders hunched slightly.

Alessa waited in awkward silence with Duncan and Daveth until Alistair returned, with an older man in tow that he introduced as Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe.

"Now then," said Duncan, "since you are all here, we can begin. You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit."

Daveth shuffled his feet uneasily.

"What do we need darkspawn blood for?" Alessa asked.

"For the Joining itself," Duncan said. "I'll explain more once you've returned."

Alessa nodded. "And the second task?"

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls were left behind there, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

"Is this part of our Joining too?" Ser Jory asked.

Duncan shook his head. "No, but the effort must be made nonetheless. I have every confidence you are all up to the task."

"What kind of scrolls are they?" Alessa asked.

"Old treaties," Duncan replied. "Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago." He sighed. "They were once considered only formalities. With so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with."

"And what if they're no longer there?" Daveth put in.

"It's possible the scrolls may have been destroyed or even stolen," Duncan acknowledged, "but the seal's magic should have protected them. Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal."

"I don't understand," Alessa commented. "Why were they left behind if they're so valuable?"

"It was assumed we would someday return." Duncan looked sadly into the fire. "A great many things were assumed that have not held true."

"How will we find the archive?" Alistair asked.

Duncan handed him a piece of parchment. "This map shows the area the outpost was in. It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact." In a serious tone, he added, "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely."

Alistair nodded. "We will." All his earlier joviality seemed to be gone now.

"Then may the Maker watch over your path," Duncan said. "I will see you when you return."

The guard at the gate waved them through, and they ventured out into the Korcari Wilds.


	4. The Korcari Wilds

_A/N: The description of the Korcari Wilds in this chapter owes more to 'The Stolen Throne' by David Gaider than to the visuals in-game; I loved the way he made the forest, and Flemeth's hut, sound so creepy, and I've tried my best to create the same atmosphere, without directly copying his description._

_Thank you to all those who have read, reviewed, alerted or favourited the story so far. You make it all worthwhile._

**

* * *

The Korcari Wilds**

The forest soon closed around them, giving Alessa a feeling of being in an entirely different land. The trees which towered above them were often gnarled and twisted into unpleasant shapes, and a persistent mist crept languidly along the ground, lending an eerie atmosphere to the place.

Not far into the forest they came across a group of dead soldiers. Or at least, Alessa took them all for dead, until one raised his head and called out feebly, "Who... is that? Grey... Wardens...?" He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to crawl towards them.

"Well," Alistair commented flippantly, "he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Apparently, neither Duncan nor the Wilds could suppress the young Warden's odd sense of humour for long.

Alessa threw him a look, and he had the grace to look a little ashamed.

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," the soldier groaned. "They came out of the ground. Please," he begged, looking up at them, "help me. I've got to... return to camp."

"Let's try to bandage him up, at least," Alessa said.

"I have bandages in my pack," Alistair responded immediately, and knelt down to examine the man's wounds. They proved to be serious, but not immediately life-threatening, and once Alistair had patched him up, the soldier staggered to his feet.

"Thank you!" he groaned. "I... I've got to get out of here!" He stumbled off in the direction of the camp.

"Did you hear that?" Ser Jory asked apprehensively as they watched him depart. "An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory," Alistair said soothingly. "We'll be fine if we're careful."

"Those soldiers were careful," the knight retorted, an edge of panic in his voice, "and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire _army_ in these forests!"

"There are darkspawn about," acknowledged Alistair calmly, "but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde."

"How do you know?" Ser Jory demanded. "I'm no coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back."

"Facing these dangers is part of Duncan's purpose in sending us here, don't you think?" Alessa pointed out. "What kind of Grey Wardens would we make if we turn back at the first hint of darkspawn?"

"That's... true," the knight agreed reluctantly.

"Know this," Alistair said. "All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here."

"You see, ser knight?" Daveth commented glibly. "We might die, but we'll be warned about it first."

"That's... reassuring," Ser Jory said sarcastically.

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however," Alistair added. "Let's get a move on."

They soon encountered the first of several roving darkspawn bands, including some that attempted to ambush them by bursting right out of the ground, just as the scout had said. But, true to his word, Alistair was able to forewarn them every time, and each band was despatched with little trouble.

In spite of his assertion that he wasn't with them to make their task easier, Alessa noted that Alistair tried to attract the bulk of the darkspawn's attention onto himself, and away from on the recruits in his charge. After each fight he surreptitiously ran a keen eye over each of them to ensure none had taken any injuries more serious than cuts or scrapes.

The third time he did so, Alessa met his gaze squarely and gave him a slight nod to let him know that she was aware of what he was doing. He smiled faintly, and inclined his head to acknowledge her perceptiveness.

The three vials of darkspawn blood were swiftly collected, and they made their way towards the site of the old Grey Warden outpost.

Finally, a large, ruined tower standing atop a grassy hill came into view. Alessa looked at Alistair, and he nodded. "That must be it."

As they reached the summit, they saw the remains of a large, ornate chest standing on the far side of the ruin; it looked like it had been smashed open decades ago. Exchanging an alarmed glance, Alessa and Alistair moved forward to take a closer look.

The chest was completely empty.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Alessa whipped her head round, startled, and Alistair put a hand on his sword hilt, ready to draw the weapon.

The speaker was a young woman, who was descending from an upper level of the ruins. Alessa wondered where she'd come from; she would swear no one had been there just moments ago.

Alessa judged the young woman to be about her own age, but there the resemblance ended. Her hair was as dark as Alessa's was fair, and she carried a staff that seemed to be made of some charred wood, yet looked sturdy. The woman's face was striking, but even more so was her attire – she was clad in an unseemly robe made from strips of leather that barely covered enough to be considered decent.

Alessa noticed with annoyance that Alistair, Daveth and Ser Jory were all staring open-mouthed at the woman, distracted almost to the point of being bewitched. Alessa suspected that had more to do with her robe than any actual witchcraft.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" the woman continued as she walked slowly down the stone incline. Her tone was supremely confident, and faintly amused. "A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were _long_ since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

Alessa straightened as the woman approached, and Alistair moved to her side. Daveth and Ser Jory remained a step or two behind them.

"What say you?" the woman demanded. "Hmm? Scavenger, or intruder?" Despite the obvious affect her attire was having on the men – or perhaps because of it – she seemed to be singling Alessa out as the target of her words.

"We are neither," Alessa answered her coolly. "The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

"'Tis a tower no longer," the woman pointed out. "The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse." She walked past them, to the other side of the ruin. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?'"

Alistair and Alessa turned to keep her in their sight, while Ser Jory and Daveth backed away from her uneasily.

"And now," the Wilds woman continued, "you disturb ashes that none have touched for _so_ long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair said tensely. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"Ooh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!" the woman proclaimed dramatically, gesturing with her arms to illustrate her point.

"Yes," Alistair replied in a wry tone, drawing the words out. "Swooping is bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is," Daveth broke in nervously. "She'll turn us into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds," the woman commented. "Such idle fancies, those legends." Her eyes narrowed. "Have you no minds of your own? You, there," she added, looking at Alessa. "Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Alistair laid a hand warningly on Alessa's shoulder, but she ignored it. "You may call me Alessa."

"And _you_ may call _me_ Morrigan – if you wish," the Wilds woman replied. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?"

"Here no longer?" Alistair burst out. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!"

"How very eloquent," Morrigan replied sarcastically, and Alessa had to suppress a smile. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems," Alistair retorted laconically. "Those documents are Grey Warden property," he continued in a steely voice, "and I suggest you return them."

"I will not," Morrigan replied, sounding affronted, "for 'twas not I who removed them." She crossed her arms. "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish – _I_ am not threatened."

Alistair tensed, as if readying himself to attack, and Alessa put a hand out towards him, shaking her head slightly. He turned his head towards her in surprise, then nodded fractionally, seeming to understand without any words needing to be exchanged that she felt a more subtle approach would net better results.

"If you did not remove the documents," Alessa asked Morrigan, "then who did?"

Morrigan uncrossed her arms. "'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Your mother?" Alessa echoed in surprise.

"Yes," Morrigan replied impatiently, "my mother. Did you assume I spawned from a log?"

"A thieving, weird-talking log, perhaps," Alistair muttered.

"Not all in the Wilds are monsters," Morrigan sighed, leaning against a stone column and gazing out over the Wilds below. "Flowers grow as well as toads." She glanced at Alessa. "If you _wish_, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like." She sounded suddenly so reasonable that it made Alessa wary.

"We _should_ get those treaties," Alistair said in a low voice, "but... I dislike this... Morrigan's... sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

Alessa nodded. Turning back to Morrigan, she asked, "I want an honest answer from you, first. Are you a Witch of the Wilds?"

"Have I been dishonest?" pouted Morrigan. "Some call us witches, yes – but purely out of superstition."

Alistair frowned. "You know what the Circle of Magi is, don't you? The Circle requires an accounting of all mages; that is the law of the land, and the Chantry."

Morrigan smiled. "If you wish to tell your Chantry about me, go ahead! I have nothing to fear from priests."

"Why would you help us?" Alessa asked hurriedly, before Alistair's templar background caused any further problems.

Morrigan shrugged. "Why not? I do not meet many people here." She sighed. "Are you all so mistrustful?"

"And what can you tell us of your mother?"

"She... prefers her privacy," Morrigan answered evasively, "but I imagine she will be curious enough why you are here. Come. See for yourself."

"I don't like this," murmured Alistair.

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will!" Daveth interrupted loudly. "Just you watch!"

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change," commented Ser Jory.

"I don't like it either," Alessa answered Alistair, her voice low. "But I don't see what choice we have. We need those treaties. I say we go with her – but we should stay alert."

"Agreed," Alistair nodded. "You'd best take the lead – she seems to like you."

"Possibly because I haven't been threatening to bring the Chantry down on her," Alessa murmured, earning a wry grin from him. Turning back to Morrigan, she said, "Lead on then. We will meet with your mother."

"Follow me then, if it pleases you," Morrigan nodded, and turned away, heading into the forest. After a quick glance at Alistair, Alessa followed her, with the young Warden close on her heels. A moment later, Daveth and Ser Jory joined the strange procession.

Morrigan led them on a short but complicated route, through paths hidden to the casual eye by overhanging branches, seemingly impenetrable shrubs, and deepening mist. Before long, they arrived at a wooden hut near a small lake, hidden amongst some more ruins. The hut was of simple and somewhat precarious construction; it seemed ready to topple at an unfavourable breeze, and yet also had the appearance of having stood there for many years. Ominously, at intervals along the path leading to the hut bunches of small, bleached animal skulls were suspended from ropes, with feathers and sticks and other strange things tied in amongst them. Daveth's gaze kept darting uneasily to them, and Alistair set his jaw grimly.

A wizened old woman stood outside, seemingly awaiting their arrival. She appeared frail, and her grey hair was dirty and straggly, but her eyes were sharp and penetrating.

"Greetings, Mother," Morrigan said as she walked to the woman's side. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens, who—"

"I see them, girl," the old woman interrupted. Her voice was unexpectedly commanding. "Hmm." She stared at the four of them, studying them for a moment. "Much as I expected."

Alistair laughed tensely. "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

"You are required to do nothing," Morrigan's mother answered, "least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight, or open one's arms wide – either way, one's a fool." She sounded amused.

"She's a witch, I tell you," Daveth said quietly but urgently. "We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"Quiet, Daveth!" Ser Jory told him. "If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

"There is a smart lad," the old woman commented, and Ser Jory looked uneasy at being singled out. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things," she continued, glancing at Morrigan as if sharing the comment with her, "but it is not I who decides." Turning her attention back to Alistair, she added, "Believe what you will."

Shifting her focus to Alessa, the old woman took a few steps towards her, and Alistair tensed. "And what of you?" she asked. "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these _boys_ do?"

Alessa met her gaze steadily. "I'm not sure what to believe."

Morrigan's mother seemed oddly pleased by her answer. "A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware!" She shook her head. "Or is it oblivious? I can never remember." She looked intently at Alessa. "So much about you is uncertain. And yet, _I _believe. Do I? Why... it seems I do!"

Alessa watched her uneasily. The old woman seemed to be completely mad, and yet Alessa couldn't shake the feeling that she knew exactly what she was saying.

"So," Alistair commented dryly to Alessa, "this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds." He, at least, seemed to be taking the madness at face value.

"Witch of the Wilds, hmm?" Morrigan's mother replied. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it." Morrigan put her hand to her head, covering her eyes in embarrassment at her mother's amusement. "Oh, how she dances under the moon." The old woman threw her head back and laughed.

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," Morrigan said petulantly.

"True," her mother replied. "They came for their treaties, yes?" She looked at Alessa and Alistair, then turned and headed into her hut. "And before you begin barking," she called out from inside, "your precious seal wore off long ago." She re-emerged, carrying a bundle of scrolls. "I have protected these."

"You..." Alistair began angrily, and then registered what she'd said. "Oh. You... protected them?"

"And why not?" Morrigan's mother asked, handing the scrolls to Alessa. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realise."

Alessa passed the treaties carefully to Alistair. "What do you mean, the threat is greater than they realise?" she asked the old woman.

"Either the threat is more," Morrigan's mother said in a condescending tone, "or they realise less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing!" She laughed. "Or perhaps they realise nothing!" She laughed again. "Oh, do not mind me," she added, chuckling at their nervous looks. "You have what you came for."

"Time for you to go, then," Morrigan said icily.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl!" her mother said, and Morrigan turned to her in surprise. "These are your guests."

Morrigan sighed heavily. "Oh. Very well, I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

True to her word, Morrigan guided them back to the ruined outpost, and then bade them a terse farewell. Alessa tried to thank her, but the other woman had already slipped back into the forest and disappeared from view.

"Well," commented Alistair, "let's hope we never have to run into _her_ again. Or her mother." He shivered. "What a pair of crazies." He looked at the scrolls in his hand, and then shrugged off his pack to stow them carefully within. "We need to get these back to camp. Let's go."

oOo

The journey back to the camp was uneventful, and before long they were approaching Duncan.

"So, you return from the Wilds," he said. "Have you been successful?"

"We have," said Alessa, holding out the vials of blood.

Duncan took them from her, looking relieved. "Good. I've had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately." He looked at Alistair. "You found the treaties, also?"

Alistair nodded. "There was a woman at the tower, and her mother had the scrolls. They were both very... odd."

"Were they Wilder folk?" Duncan asked.

"I don't think so," Alistair answered, frowning. "They might be apostates – mages hiding from the Chantry."

"I know you were once a templar, Alistair," Duncan said, a gentle reprimand in his tone, "but Chantry business is not ours. You have the scrolls, yes?" Alistair nodded. "Then let us focus on the Joining," Duncan continued.

Alistair inclined his head. "Yes, Duncan."

"Can you tell us now what this ritual is about?" Alessa asked.

Duncan turned to her. "I will not lie," he said solemnly. "We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now, rather than later."

Alessa met Duncan's gaze steadily. "You're saying this ritual could kill us."

It wasn't a question, but Duncan answered it anyway. "As could any darkspawn you face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive."

Alessa looked from Duncan to Alistair. Both wore serious expressions. Alessa swallowed, and nodded. She'd come this far – she would not turn back now, no matter the risks.

"Let's go, then," Daveth said. "I'm anxious to see this Joining now."

"I agree," said Ser Jory. "Let's have it done."

"Then let us begin," Duncan said quietly. "Alistair, take them to the old temple. I will join you shortly."


	5. The Joining

**The Joining**

As they waited for Duncan, Ser Jory grew increasingly anxious. "The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it," he commented, pacing back and forth. Alessa wished the man would stand still; his edginess was doing nothing to calm her own nerves.

"Are you blubbering again?" Daveth 's tone was contemptuous.

"Why all these damned tests?" retorted the knight. "Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition," Daveth said. "Or maybe they're just trying to annoy you."

Alessa rolled her eyes. "I swear I'm the bravest one here."

"Hey!" protested Alistair.

"I didn't mean you—" Alessa began, and then stopped when she saw the twinkle in his eyes and his teasing grin.

"I only know that my wife is in Highever, with a child on the way," Ser Jory said. "If they had warned me, I—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It just doesn't seem fair."

Daveth shrugged. "Would you have come if they'd warned you?" He looked round at all of them. "Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right?"

"Including sacrificing us?" Ser Jory asked.

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight," Daveth said quietly.

"Will you both shut up?" Alessa said, seeing that the talk was only increasing Ser Jory's anxiety.

"Yeah, ser knight," Daveth agreed scornfully. "Try not to wet your trousers until the ritual starts."

Ser Jory sighed. "I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."

Any further comment was forestalled by the arrival of Duncan. He was carrying a large silver chalice. "At last, we come to the Joining." He reverently placed the chalice on a nearby table as he continued, "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation." He turned to face them. "So it was, that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood – and mastered their taint."

There was a shocked silence for a moment, then Ser Jory stammered, "We... we're going to drink the blood of those... those _creatures_?"

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us," Duncan answered, "and as we did before you." He looked around at the three of them. "This – is the source of our power. And our victory."

"Those who survive the Joining," Alistair added, "become immune to the taint. We can _sense_ it in the darkspawn, and use it to slay the archdemon."

"Those who survive?" Ser Jory said slowly.

"Not all who drink the blood will survive," Duncan answered. "And those who do, are forever changed." Alessa glanced at Alistair; he was watching her sombrely, all trace of levity wiped from his expression now. "This is why the Joining is a secret," Duncan continued. "It is the price we pay." He paused a moment, then added, "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first." He looked at Alistair. "Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair nodded solemnly and bowed his head. "Join us, brothers and sisters." There was a gravity to his voice as he slowly recited the words. "Join us in the shadows, where we stand vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten – and that, one day, _we_ shall join _you_." He looked up at Duncan.

Duncan turned to the table and picked up the chalice, holding it out. "Daveth, step forward."

Daveth glanced at his fellow recruits and shrugged, then took the chalice and drank from it before handing it back to Duncan. Alessa and Ser Jory watched anxiously, and Alistair's bearing was tense.

For a moment, Daveth just stood there, looking at Duncan. Then abruptly he swayed, shaking his head as if to clear it. A moment later he cried out, clutching his head, and curled up in agony.

"Maker's breath!" said Ser Jory, taking a step back.

Daveth clutched at his throat, gasping desperately for air, and fell to his knees, his other hand holding him up. He groaned.

"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan said quietly, and Alessa looked at him in horror, then round at Alistair, who shook his head sadly.

Daveth collapsed to the stones, twitched once and was still.

"Step forward, Jory," Duncan intoned, as if nothing had happened.

Ser Jory backed away, shaking his head and reaching for his sword. "But... I have a wife," he protested, drawing the blade and holding it out threateningly towards Duncan. "A child! Had I known…"

"There is no turning back," Duncan said, advancing slowly and warily towards the knight.

"No!" cried Ser Jory. "You ask too much! There is no glory in this!" He clenched both hands around the hilt of the greatsword.

Never taking his eyes off the knight, Duncan handed the chalice to Alistair, and drew a wicked-looking dagger from its sheath.

Ser Jory lunged forward with his sword pointed at Duncan's chest, desperation and death in his eyes; Duncan neatly deflected the blow with the dagger, which he then plunged into the knight's heart. Alessa watched in appalled silence as Duncan said in a quiet voice, heavy with regret, "I am sorry," and pulled the dagger free. Ser Jory fell, dead before he hit the stones.

Sadly, Duncan wiped the dagger clean and re-sheathed it before turning to Alistair. Alessa noticed that the younger Warden's hands shook slightly as he handed the chalice back to Duncan.

Duncan held the chalice out towards her. "Step forward, Alessa."

Time seemed to slow momentarily as Alessa's gaze centred on the chalice, unable to shake the image of Daveth writhing in agony.

She wondered if her father would have agreed to Duncan's bargain as readily if he had known the Joining ritual could kill her. The Cousland line depended on her and Fergus, now; but Fergus was the heir, not her. And her old life was finished, one way or another – there was no going back now, even if Duncan would allow her to turn away from the ritual – which, clearly, he would not.

It wouldn't matter, she realised. She had seen darkspawn first-hand now, seen the threat they posed. And there was a whole army of the creatures bearing down upon Ostagar. Joining the Grey Wardens would allow her not only to fight them, but to aid in ending the threat of the Blight.

She would not turn away from that.

Holding her head high, Alessa summoned her courage and took the chalice, hesitating only a second before drinking from it.

The blood had a foul taste, and Alessa blinked as she passed the chalice back to Duncan, trying to keep from retching. For a moment nothing happened, but then her head began to throb painfully; she heard what seemed to be whispers, but in no language she had ever heard, echoing within her mind. The ruined temple around her spun, and suddenly she saw flashes of what appeared to be a great dragon, roaring at her. Then even that faded to nothingness.

oOo

_Alistair watches the new recruit – new Warden, now, he inwardly corrects himself – and waits for her to open her eyes. _

_She's survived the physical effects of the Joining, unlike Daveth, and that's a good sign – but even so, the shock drives some mad, and until she opens her eyes, they won't know for sure…_

_He flicks a glance at Duncan. The senior Warden seems perfectly composed; he has full faith in this young woman's potential. _

_Alistair hopes Duncan is right. Two deaths is already too many, and she looks so fragile lying there…_

_Not that she had seemed fragile out in the Korcari Wilds, he reminds himself. For all her youth – she's probably a year or two younger than he – she'd been the most impressive of the recruits in combat. Their first sight of the darkspawn had shaken all three of them, yet she'd leapt into battle with barely any hesitation, adapting easily to fighting alongside him, handling those blades as if she'd been born with them in her hands._

_In contrast, Daveth had seemed afraid of everything, and just a little too concerned with his own safety. Alistair can't say he was entirely surprised – the man was a cutpurse, after all. Self-preservation goes with the territory, and in itself it isn't a bad instinct in battle – but not at the cost of the safety of your comrades. Alistair wonders what prompted Duncan to recruit the man in the first place. A street thief, of all things, in the Grey Wardens?_

_And Ser Jory – well, the knight had seemed skilled enough, but he'd been inflexible, using the same moves every time with not enough situational awareness. And then there was his telling comment when faced with the truth of what the Joining entailed: "There is no glory in this." _

_But in spite of her prowess, Alistair finds it hard to picture this young woman as a Grey Warden, not least because she surely deserves something better. It is a great honour to serve, Alistair has never doubted that; but it is also, in its own unique way, a slow death sentence, especially for someone so young. As a teyrn's daughter, she must have had other options open to her._

_Then he remembers the note that Duncan had sent ahead of them, courtesy of a fast courier supplied by a trusted bann; in it, Duncan had noted tersely that her family had been attacked in its own castle by Arl Howe, and that she and Duncan had barely escaped with their lives. And he remembers the haunted look that's been hiding behind her smile all day._

_In some ways, she's as much a refugee from her former life as he is._

_And anyway, it's a little late to be questioning whether or not she should be here. Here she is, and, clearly, she is the best of the three candidates; but will that be enough to see her safely through the Joining?_

_As if in answer to his unspoken question, her eyes flutter open._

oOo

Alessa opened her eyes to see Duncan bending over her, with Alistair hovering anxiously behind him. She became aware that she was lying on the cold stone floor, and groaned as bruises began to make themselves felt.

"It is done," Duncan said solemnly. "From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden. Welcome, sister." He held out a hand to help her up, and she clasped it gratefully. She raised her other hand to her head, which was still pounding.

"Two more deaths," said Alistair sadly. "In my Joining, only one of us died – but it was... horrible." He shook his head at the memory, and then looked at Alessa. "I'm glad at least one of you made it through."

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked.

"I-I'm not sure," Alessa said, honestly. "Nothing you said prepared me for that."

"Such is what it takes, to be a Grey Warden," Duncan said.

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair asked. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn," Duncan added, "as we all do. That – and many other things – can be explained in the months to come."

"Before I forget," Alistair said, "there is one last part to your Joining." He looked at Duncan, who retrieved something from his pouch and passed it to Alistair. "We take some of that blood, and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn't make it this far." Sadly, he handed Alessa the pendant. She took it, looking at Daveth's and Ser Jory's bodies, and put it around her neck.

"Take some time," Duncan told her. "When you are ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king."

"Me?" Alessa asked in surprise. "What kind of meeting?"

"The king is discussing strategy for the upcoming battle," Duncan explained. "I... am not sure why he has requested your presence." He glanced at Alistair, and then returned his attention to Alessa. "The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able. Come, Alistair – you have battle preparations to make."

Duncan walked away, taking the chalice with him. Alistair regarded Alessa for a moment, looking torn between staying with her to make sure she was all right, and following Duncan. She smiled at him, and gestured for him to go after the older Grey Warden. Alistair nodded, and left.

Once they were out of sight, Alessa's smile faded. She took a shaky breath, and looked round once more at Daveth and Ser Jory. She wondered what made her different from them – or at least from Daveth. What quality had allowed her to survive the Joining when he had not?

Or was it nothing more than chance?

A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she quickly walked after Duncan and Alistair. She could not remain here.

Needing a few moments to recover her equilibrium before joining Duncan at the king's strategy meeting, she decided to check on her Mabari hound. Heading towards the Grey Warden tent, she found Dane lying contentedly by the fire. He looked up with a whine at her approach, and she knelt down to pet him. Then with a sigh, she stood again and looked to the north-west. "Duty calls," she murmured to Dane, and started to head back towards the location of the meeting.

Dane barked sharply at her, and she turned to see him standing and staring at her.

"I don't think you were invited," she told him. The hound barked again, insistently. "Oh, very well then," she sighed. "But you mind your manners in front of the king!"

Dane barked happily, and bounded to her side. Smiling, she resumed walking.

As she approached the meeting, she saw Duncan on the far side of a long wooden table, with King Cailan on the side nearest her, along with the Revered Mother, a mage, and a dark-haired man in grey armour, with whom the king appeared to be arguing.

"Loghain, my decision is final," she heard Cailan saying, and Alessa caught her breath, slightly awestruck. So this was Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dane. As the king's right-hand man, not to mention his father-in-law, and the only remaining teyrn in Ferelden aside from her own father, she had naturally known of Loghain, but she had never before met him in person.

"I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault," Cailan continued.

Alessa slipped past them, trying not to draw their attention, and joined Duncan on the far side of the table.

"You risk too much, Cailan," Loghain argued. "The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines."

Alessa looked at Loghain in surprise. She'd always heard that there was little formality between the king and his closest advisor, but even so, the way Loghain was talking to him took her aback – he sounded like he was scolding a recalcitrant child.

"If that's the case," the king retorted, sounding a touch petulant, which only served to reinforce the image, "perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all."

Loghain looked annoyed. "I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves." He turned from the king, taking a few steps away from the table and running a hand through his thick, black hair.

"It is not a fool notion," Cailan said, sounding annoyed himself now. "Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past." He glared at Loghain's back. "And you will remember who is king."

"How fortunate," Loghain remarked to no-one in particular, "that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!"

"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" said the king. He turned to face the table. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

"They are, your Majesty."

Cailan's gaze shifted from Duncan to Alessa. "And here is Lady Alessa!" He smiled gently at her. "I understand congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Alessa said, bowing her head.

"Every Grey Warden is needed now," he added. "You should be honoured to join their ranks."

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan!" Loghain broke in. Alessa glanced at him, to find his icy blue eyes locked on her. The intensity in them was chilling, and Alessa found herself intimidated. She swallowed and forced herself to match him stare for stare. He sneered slightly, and turned his attention to the king, apparently dismissing her as unimportant. "We must attend to reality."

"Fine!" replied the king. "Speak your strategy." He bent over the map laid out on the table before them. "The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, here." He pointed at the map. "And then—"

"You will alert the tower to light the beacon," Loghain interrupted, leaning over the map himself, "signalling my men to charge from cover—"

"To flank the darkspawn," Cailan nodded. "I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Well, who shall light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there," Loghain said. "It's not a dangerous task, but it _is_ vital."

"Then we should send our best," the king stated firmly. He looked up at Duncan. "Send Alistair, and Alessa here, to make sure it's done."

Alessa looked at the king in surprise for a moment, her mind in a whirl. Was he doing this just to keep her out of the battle? And if so, was it out of some misplaced chivalry, or because he didn't trust her skill in combat?

_And won't Alistair just love that, getting to babysit the new recruit while all his fellow Wardens are fighting the darkspawn._

"If it's not dangerous," she offered, "then I can handle it alone."

"No," Cailan said immediately, his tone firm. "It's best that you both go." His eyes met hers steadily, and she thought she detected a hint of concern in them.

_He doesn't trust me, then. Even out of battle, he thinks I need a keeper._

She supposed she couldn't blame Cailan. He knew her as a teyrn's daughter, someone he had only ever seen on formal occasions. Of course his instinct would be one of protection.

She could only hope that, one day soon, she would get the chance to show him that she was just as capable as any other Grey Warden. But today, it seemed, was not to be that day.

Loghain looked sideways at the king. "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much," he said darkly. "Is that truly wise?"

Dane growled suddenly, a low rumble coming from deep in his throat. Alessa frowned at the Mabari, and quieted him with a gesture.

"Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!" the king said sharply. "Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from."

Alessa looked at him in surprise. _Conspiracy theories?_ Clearly, this was a continuation of an earlier argument.

"Your Majesty," Duncan interjected, "you should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing."

"There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds," Loghain pointed out.

King Cailan glanced at Loghain, then turned back to the Warden. "Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?"

"I..." Duncan began, and then appeared to think better of whatever he had been about to say. "Yes, your Majesty."

The mage, who had until now been listening quietly, suddenly put in, "Your Majesty, the tower and its beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi—"

"We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage," the Revered Mother interrupted him. "Save them for the darkspawn."

"Enough!" cried Loghain. "This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

_He doesn't seem too happy about the idea, though, _Alessa thought_._ Perhaps he felt that she and Alistair would be taking some of the glory away from his men.

"Thank you, Loghain," the king said. He stood straighter, and smiled at Duncan and Alessa. "I cannot wait for that glorious moment," he said. "The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil."

"Yes, Cailan," Loghain said dryly, walking away from the meeting. "A glorious moment for us all."

"I will see you shortly, Duncan," the king said, and followed Loghain.

Duncan motioned Alessa to follow him, and they made their way back to the Grey Warden tent, where Duncan called Alistair over.

"The king has a task for the two of you, Alistair," Duncan told him. "You are both to go to the Tower of Ishal, and ensure the beacon is lit."

"What?" Alistair exclaimed. "I won't be in the battle?" He sounded disappointed, just as Alessa had expected.

"This is by the king's _personal_ request, Alistair," Duncan replied. Alessa couldn't help noticing that Duncan seemed to impart a special meaning to the words, although Alessa couldn't imagine why. Alistair certainly didn't appear impressed – if anything, he looked even more annoyed.

"If the beacon is not lit," Duncan continued, "Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs two Grey Wardens up there, holding the torch, just in case, right?" Alistair's voice dripped sarcasm.

"I agree with Alistair," Alessa put in, and the young Warden looked at her in surprise. "Surely we would be of more use in the battle."

"That is not your choice," Duncan said, with a trace of annoyance. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there." He frowned at them. "We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn, exciting or no."

"I get it, I get it," Alistair said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line... darkspawn or no."

Alessa couldn't help but smile at the image Alistair's words conveyed. "You know, I think I'd like to see that."

He turned to her, grinning. "For you, I might consider it. But it has to be a pretty dress."

Alessa giggled, and Duncan sighed heavily. "Please don't encourage him. You both need to concentrate on the task at hand – getting to the Tower of Ishal and lighting the beacon."

She nodded, composing herself. Now was not the time for frivolity. "How will we know when to light it?"

"We will signal you when the time is right," Duncan replied. "Alistair will know what to look for."

Alessa glanced at Alistair, who nodded at her, all seriousness now.

"The battle is about to begin," Duncan continued. "You will need to move quickly. You'll have less than an hour."

"Can we join the battle afterwards?" Alistair asked hopefully.

Duncan shook his head, and Alistair's shoulders drooped. "Stay with the teyrn's men," Duncan said, "and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word."

A sudden thought struck Alessa. "What if the archdemon appears?"

"We soil our drawers, that's what," Alistair told her. He sounded as if he wasn't entirely joking..

"If it does, leave it to us," Duncan added. He narrowed his eyes. "I want no heroics from either of you."

Alistair sighed. "Yes, Duncan."

Duncan nodded, satisfied. "I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

He turned to go, but Alistair called his name, and he turned back to face them.

"May the Maker watch over you," Alistair said quietly.

"May He watch over us all," Duncan replied, before walking back to the tent, leaving Alessa and Alistair alone by the fire.


	6. The Tower of Ishal

_A/N: A shorter chapter this time! Thank you again to those who are reading, reviewing, alerting or favouriting this story. I know this one isn't as original or dramatic as other stories I've posted, but I'm still rather fond of Alessa and her adventures, and it means a lot to know that others are getting something out of it as well._

* * *

**The Tower of Ishal**

A rumble of thunder echoed above them; looking up, Alessa realised with a start that the sky had darkened ominously. Even as she noted the dark storm clouds now covering the sky, lightning forked towards the tower and heavy droplets of rain began to fall.

Alistair groaned. "Perfect." He looked at Alessa and sighed. "Let's go then. Are you ready?"

Alessa nodded, and Dane barked eagerly, which caused Alistair to look down at the hound in surprise. "I wondered who he belonged to. He's yours, then?"

Alessa smiled. "He is. Alistair, meet Dane. Dane, this is Alistair."

Dane barked again. "Uh… hello," Alistair said, eyeing the Mabari a little warily. He looked at Alessa. "Is he… trained?"

The hound growled indignantly, deep in his throat, and Alistair took a hurried step back. Alessa tried to hide a smile. She knew the Mabari's growls well enough to recognise that Dane meant her fellow Warden no harm, but on a wicked impulse she kept that to herself. "He's a war hound," she pointed out. "Upsetting his feelings might not be your best course."

"True…" Alistair acknowledged, not taking his eyes off the Mabari, who was still making low growling noises.

"Be nice to Alistair," Alessa told the hound with mock severity. "Or else I'll have to leave you behind."

Alistair looked at her, startled. "Wait… he's coming with us?"

Alessa arched her brows. "Do _you_ want to be the one to tell him he can't?"

The Mabari growled louder, and Alistair took another tiny step backwards. "Err… no."

Alessa grinned, and Alistair sighed. "Fine, he can come." Dane barked eagerly, and Alistair looked at him curiously. "He really does understand me, doesn't he?" He turned to Alessa. "They are as smart as the stories say, then?"

"Smart enough to know not to talk," Alessa responded with a smile, and then her smile faded as she remembered who'd told her that.

Thinking of Ser Gilmore led to thoughts of her family, and that was simply too painful. She swallowed, and pushed the memories away. Now was not the time to wallow in grief.

Alistair frowned at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said curtly, shaking her head. "Let's just go." She strode off towards the bridge with Dane at her heels, leaving Alistair to follow.

They'd tarried longer than she'd thought, it seemed – as they reached the bridge across the gorge, the sounds of battle reached her from below. She exchanged a worried look with Alistair, and they both picked up their pace.

Alessa had barely reached the halfway point of the bridge when a cry rang out from one of the archers arrayed across it. "Trebuchet!" Seconds later, a massive chunk of flaming rock hit the bridge not far from where Alessa stood. The impact shook the whole structure, and Alessa was knocked off her feet.

Alistair was instantly by her side. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she muttered, "except for some wounded pride."

He grinned, and grasped her arm to help her up. "Let's get off this bridge."

They hurried to the far side with no further incident. As they ran on towards the tower, Alessa commented, "I wouldn't have expected darkspawn to use siege engines."

"Normally they wouldn't," Alistair answered, looking concerned. "They must have emissaries with them."

"Emissaries?"

"Unusually intelligent darkspawn," Alistair told her. "They can use magic, and they're capable of organising—"

He broke off and came to a halt as they neared the gates leading to the Tower of Ishal.

Alessa stopped too. "Something wrong?"

"There should be guards here," he answered, frowning. Alessa looked at the tower entrance. The guards that she'd passed when she and Duncan had first arrived were conspicuous by their absence.

Then an armoured man ran out through the gate, with one of the Circle mages hot on his heels. "Maker help us, they're everywhere!" they heard him moan. He caught sight of Alistair and Alessa and ran towards them. "You... your Grey Wardens, aren't you? The tower – it's been taken!"

"What are you talking about, man?" Alistair demanded. "Taken how?"

The soldier turned to gaze up at the tower; he seemed to be in shock. "Darkspawn came up through the lower chambers. They're _everywhere_. Most of our men are dead."

Alistair grimaced. "Then we'll have to take it back. We must reach that beacon!" He turned to the soldier. "Stay here and guard the gate. Make sure no darkspawn get out this way!" Then he gestured to the mage. "You, there, come with us."

The mage gulped, and nodded.

Weapons drawn, Alistair and Alessa ran into the courtyard. A small pack of darkspawn was there, fighting with a ragged remnant of Loghain's men. Alistair charged into the fray, crying "For the Grey Wardens!" Alessa followed suit.

Their swords, Dane's teeth and the mage's spells made short work of the darkspawn, but they weren't in time to save any of the soldiers. Alistair cursed under his breath, and approached the door to the tower. He glanced at Alessa, and she nodded. Alistair took a breath, and shoved the door open.

The tower was quiet. Too quiet.

"Can you sense the darkspawn?" Alessa murmured.

Alistair shrugged helplessly. "Yes, and there's a lot of them, but it's muddled – I think they're spread out, I can't tell exactly where they are." He gave her a wry grin. "We'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way."

The main vestibule was empty, and they paced cautiously through it, to the large circular room beyond. As they entered it a wave of fire rolled out, setting light to the makeshift barricades that the darkspawn had constructed from smashed chairs, tables, crates, and anything else they could find.

Alistair waved them back into the vestibule, and moments later a handful of darkspawn followed them. Thus separated, the darkspawn were soon despatched.

Alessa was pleasantly surprised to find that she and Alistair formed an easy team; learning from their experiences in the Korcari Wilds, they adapted readily to each other's fighting styles, almost instinctively picking up on each other's intentions in the melee.

Alistair seemed to think so too; he grinned at Alessa as they caught their breath. "I think we work well together." Alessa couldn't help grinning back, and Dane let out an insistent bark. Alistair looked down at the hound and rolled his eyes. "Yes, you too." The Mabari barked again, happily.

The hurlock emissary that had conjured the fireball proved more challenging, but not dangerously so, and they moved on through the tower's lower floor. Another group of darkspawn tried to ambush them, without success.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair panted after they despatched the group guarding the stairs to the next floor. "What are all these darkspawn _doing_ here, anyway, ahead of the rest of horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

"You could always try telling them they're in the wrong place," Alessa remarked dryly.

"Right," drawled Alistair, "because, clearly, this is all just a misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this later."

"Anyway," she reminded him, "weren't you the one complaining about not getting to fight?"

"So I was," he grinned. "Be careful what you wish for, eh?" He shook his head ruefully. "Let's move on."

They made their way through the second, and then the third, floors of the tower, mopping up pockets of darkspawn as they went.

Finally, they reached the stairs to the roof of the tower. "Loghain better be ready to charge when we light the beacon," Alistair muttered. "The king is depending on us."

Alistair burst through the final door at a run, with Alessa right behind him, but then he skidded to an abrupt halt in front of her, and she almost crashed into him.

"Maker's blood…" he whispered in horror.

The upper level of the tower was strewn with the bodies of Loghain's men, who appeared to have made a last stand here, in front of the beacon. But that wasn't what had provoked Alistair's curse.

In the centre of the room, a massive creature with blue-grey skin and two large, twisted horns atop its head crouched amidst the bodies, scooping something into its mouth that dripped red gore – Alessa didn't want to think about what it might be.

"Ogre!" screeched the mage behind her.

Alistair turned to Alessa, his face draining of colour. "I'd heard stories," he said, "but…"

The ogre turned its head and saw them. Straightening up, it lumbered round to face them, and roared, spittle flying out of its snout-like jaws.

Alessa swallowed, and glanced at Alistair. He took a deep breath and nodded at her. As one, they attacked.

If the mage hadn't been with them, they might have been done for there and then. Alistair tried to attract the beast's attention, all too successfully; the creature swung a huge arm down towards him, threatening to crush him to a bloody pulp. He got his shield up in time, but the ogre's fist smashed down onto it, knocking Alistair to the floor and leaving his shield arm hanging numb and useless by his side.

But the mage had cast a spell of weakness on the creature, and its swing was less than it might have been. Alistair was winded, but he scrambled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it.

The ogre turned its attention on Alessa, ignoring the Mabari hound that snarled and snapped at its lower limbs. Alessa sliced at the beast's belly with her sword, and then tried to dodge away, but it was quicker than she'd anticipated; it swept its arm down and snatched her off her feet, held fast in its monstrous grip.

If the beast hadn't been weakened by the spell, Alessa suspected it could have crushed her like a twig in spite of her armour. As it was, the ogre shook her like a rag doll until her head swam.

Through a red haze she heard Alistair yell, and she focussed her gaze in time to see him drop his sword and loop his good arm through the straps of his shield. Raising it in front of him, he charged furiously at the ogre, slamming the shield into it with all his might.

The shield slam saved Alessa; partially stunned, the ogre dropped her to the floor where she lay a moment, dazed. The mage took full advantage of the situation, casting a paralysing spell on the creature before it could recover; Alistair tossed his shield aside, retrieved his sword and leapt at the beast, sending it crashing it to the floor. Dane leapt on the ogre too, and Alessa pulled herself to her feet, adding her sword and dagger to the attack.

The ogre never had the chance to regain its footing, and Alistair delivered the coup de grace, driving his sword savagely through the beast's head. Panting, he jumped down from the ogre's corpse and turned to Alessa. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, breathing as heavily as he was. "I'll live."

"We've surely missed the signal," Alistair said, striding to one of the tower's shattered windows and looking anxiously out over the battlefield. "Let's light the beacon before it's too late."

Alessa grabbed a lit torch from a nearby wall mount and ran to the beacon. Thankfully, it was already prepared, and when she touched the torch to it the flames leapt up eagerly amidst the oil-soaked wood and tinder. Within seconds, they could see the beacon's fire blazing high above the tower, the broken roof affording a clear view.

She relaxed and grinned at Alistair, and he smiled back triumphantly. "We did it," he began, and then broke off as a tumultuous roaring echoed up the stairs. They turned to see darkspawn streaming through the doorway. Before either one could react, a hail of arrows flew towards them.

Without his shield, Alistair was as vulnerable as Alessa was, the mage and Dane even more so, and there was no cover to be had in the small circular room. The darkspawn archers were too many and too close, and although Alessa's armour deflected some of the arrows, many more pierced through the mail and into her body. As she hit the stone floor, she heard Alistair call out her name in a strangled cry; she tried to raise her head to see him but blackness was pressing in on her and she could do nothing but give in to it.


	7. Flemeth

**Flemeth**

Alessa came to with a start, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She was lying in an unfamiliar bed, unclothed except for her undergarments and a number of fresh bandages. Candlelight flickered on a rough, mossy ceiling above, and she could hear the quiet sounds of someone moving around nearby. Her thoughts were fuzzy; she felt like she'd slept for a month, and yet at the same time it seemed like no time at all had passed since…

Her memory returned in a disorienting rush, and she sat upright.

The sudden movement sent small stabs of pain through her body and made her head spin. She had to concentrate to focus on the owner of the voice that remarked, "Ah. Your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased."

It was the girl they'd met at the ruined Warden outpost; the one whose mother had given them the treaties.

"I remember you," Alessa mumbled dazedly, trying to recall the name that went with the face. "The girl from the Wilds."

"I am Morrigan," she replied with a trace of annoyance, "lest you have forgotten. And we are in the Wilds, where I have been bandaging your wounds." She raised one eyebrow. "You are welcome, by the way." She looked curiously at Alessa. "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"

"Rescue?" asked Alessa in confusion, trying to remember, but all she could recall was the battle with the ogre, then lighting the beacon only to get swarmed by darkspawn.

_The beacon._

"Morrigan," she asked urgently, "what happened to the army? The king?"

Morrigan crossed her arms. "The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field," she said slowly. "The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred."

Alessa stared at her, aghast. _Massacred? _

"The king is dead?" she whispered in horror.

Morrigan nodded. "As are all who fought with him."

Alessa blinked. It was almost too much to comprehend.

_Oh, Maker... King Cailan... all the Grey Wardens... Duncan. All dead._

_And Loghain – he quit the field? He abandoned the king? _Why_?_

She had no personal knowledge of Teyrn Loghain to draw on, but her father had always spoken of him with respect and admiration. She'd always thought of him as an honourable man, and everyone knew him to be a great general, and fiercely loyal.

_Why would he do such a thing? It makes no sense!_

Morrigan watched her for a moment, and then added, "Your friend – he is not taking it well."

"My friend?" Alessa asked, momentarily confused. "Oh... you mean Alistair? He's here?"

"The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before? Yes. He is outside by the fire."

Alessa felt a rush of relief; she was not alone.

Morrigan glanced towards the door and added, "Mother asked to see you when you awoke."

"Why does your mother want to see me?" Alessa asked warily.

"I do not know," Morrigan shrugged. "She rarely tells me her plans."

Alessa sighed. She'd forgotten how cryptic – and annoying – these two women were. She threw back the bed covers and looked round for her clothes and armour, which she spotted in a neat, clean pile beside the bed, her weapons placed carefully beside them. She stood, and then winced as bandages stretched and pulled at the raw flesh beneath. She put a hand on the bandages and looked at Morrigan. "My injuries – they were grievous." It wasn't a question. She recalled all too vividly the sting of each arrow piercing her body. There were so many of them.

She should surely be dead.

"Yes," the other girl confirmed matter-of-factly, "but I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal."

"And Alistair?" Alessa pressed. "Is he all right?"

"He is," Morrigan replied, "as you are." She sighed, and added with a hint of condescension, "I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being _childish_."

"Very unkind," said Alessa indignantly. "Those were his friends, that you so calmly report being massacred!"

"And do you think they would encourage his blubbering?" Morrigan retorted coolly. "If so, they are not the sort of Grey Wardens the legends note."

Alessa glared at the other girl, and began gingerly to pull on her clothes and armour. Morrigan moved away and returned to a small table, where Alessa noticed she was preparing some vegetables.

"Is it safe here?" she asked as she dressed. "We're not that far from Ostagar, as I recall."

"You are safe," Morrigan confirmed, "for the moment. Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn away. Once you leave, 'tis uncertain what will happen. The horde has moved on, so you _might_ avoid it." She sounded remarkably indifferent about it.

"Why did your mother save us?" Alessa asked with a frown. "Why us, and not others?"

"I wonder at that myself," Morrigan mused. "But she tells me nothing. Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach." She looked up at Alessa. "_I_ would have rescued your king. A king would be worth a much higher ransom than you."

Alessa studied the other girl's face, but it gave no hint as to whether Morrigan was joking or not. "I suppose he would," Alessa replied dryly.

Morrigan shrugged. "I am only being practical."

Alessa shook her head, still unsure if Morrigan was serious. Another thought struck her. "How _did _your mother manage to rescue us, exactly?" Try as she might, Alessa could remember nothing of the rescue – everything between the volley of arrows and waking up in the hut was a blank.

She didn't even know how much time had passed, she realised.

"She turned into a giant bird," Morrigan said with a smile, "and plucked the two of you from atop the tower, one in each talon."

"Fine," Alessa replied shortly, irritated by the girl's flippancy. "Don't tell me.".

Morrigan's smile widened, and she shrugged. "If you do not believe that tale, then I suggest you ask Mother. She _may_ even tell you the truth."

Alessa sighed. Getting a straight answer out of the daughter was as easy as getting one from the mother, it seemed. As she strapped on the last piece of armour, she asked, "Were there any survivors, besides us?"

This, at least, Morrigan seemed inclined to answer. "Only stragglers that are long gone." She hesitated, and added, "You... would not want to see what is happening in that valley now."

Alessa thought back to her first sight of the ogre, picking amongst the bodies of the men it had slaughtered, and shivered. Morrigan was probably right. Alessa sighed. She was putting off the inevitable, she realised. It was time she spoke to Morrigan's mother, even if it seemed unlikely she'd get any sensible answers.

She strapped on her dagger, and then her sword, relieved that the heirloom had not been lost. Drawing the sword, she noted with pleasure that someone had taken the trouble to clean it since the fight atop the tower, just as the armour had been cleaned. She wondered if she had Morrigan to thank for that, or Alistair. Sliding the Cousland family blade back into its scabbard, Alessa turned to her host. "Thank you for helping me, Morrigan."

"I..." Morrigan seemed taken aback. "You... you are welcome." She shifted her feet uncomfortably. "Although Mother did most of the work – I am no healer."

Alessa smiled at her. "I will go and speak to your mother."

Morrigan nodded. "I will stay – and make something to eat."

Alessa took a breath to compose herself, and then opened the hut door and stepped outside, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the low afternoon sun.

Her gaze fell immediately on Alistair. He was standing by the edge of the little lake, staring out across it. She couldn't see his face, but his bearing seemed forlorn. Like her, he was armed and armoured, although his Grey Warden shield was missing – presumably still lying where he'd abandoned it during the fight with the ogre. Alessa also noted with relief and some surprise that Dane stood at his side, and that Alistair's hand rested on the hound's head, as if taking comfort from the contact.

"See?" Morrigan's mother said, and Alessa glanced round at her, but she was looking at Alistair. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

Both man and hound turned their heads, and Dane barked happily at her. The lines of sorrow and despair on Alistair's face smoothed out into an expression of relief, and he smiled slowly, almost disbelievingly. "You... you're alive," he whispered hoarsely, as if he'd expected some other outcome. He took a step towards her, and then halted.

Alessa was not so restrained. Her own relief at seeing him alive and hale swept her away, and she ran to him without thought or care, laughing and crying at the same time. She flung her arms around him, and after a moment's hesitation, he wrapped his arms awkwardly around her as well. "I thought you were dead, for sure," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Alessa laughed shakily. "With the number of arrows I took, no doubt I should be."

"This doesn't seem real," Alistair said, taking a small step back but keeping his hands on her waist, as if he was afraid she'd disappear in a puff of smoke if he let her go. His voice shook. "If it wasn't for Morrigan's mother, we would both be dead on top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," the old woman said tetchily. Alessa and Alistair turned their heads to look at her, and then stepped away from each other awkwardly.

Dane whined and pushed his nose against Alessa's hand; grateful for the distraction, she knelt and gave the mabari a fierce hug.

"I-I didn't mean..." Alistair stammered, reddening. "But... but what do we call you? You... you never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," Morrigan's mother said indifferently. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Alistair's eyes widened. "_The_ Flemeth?" he asked in awe. "From the legends?"

Alessa looked up, sharing his shock. Those stories dated back hundreds of years. Surely this could not be the same Flemeth.

"Daveth was right," Alistair continued in a hushed tone. "You _are_ the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth asked acidly. "I know a bit of magic – and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Alistair glanced at Alessa. "That's... true," he acknowledged. "I suppose we should thank you."

Flemeth laughed. "If you know what is good for you, I suppose you should," she agreed acerbically.

"Why _did_ you save us?" Alessa asked, standing up and brushing at the dirt and grass that clung to her mail.

Flemeth shrugged. "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn." Her eyes narrowed. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change while I wasn't looking?"

"Of course not!" Alistair declared hotly. "And we _were_ fighting the darkspawn! The king had nearly defeated them!" He shook his head in disbelief and confusion. "Why would Loghain _do_ this?"

"Now that," Flemeth commented, "is a good question." Her expression suddenly grew sad. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." She sighed. "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can out-manoeuvre. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the _true_ threat."

"The archdemon," Alistair said tensely.

"What _is_ an archdemon, exactly?" Alessa asked, suddenly realising that she didn't really know. The tales she had read had only related the name, never a description She hadn't thought to ask before now.

There were too many questions she hadn't asked; everything had happened so quickly, and she'd just assumed Duncan would tell her everything in his own time.

No-one had expected that time to run out so soon.

Alistair turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, but Flemeth got there first. "It is said that, long ago, the Maker sent the old gods of the Tevinter Imperium to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface," she said. "An archdemon is an old god awakened, and tainted by darkspawn." She smiled grimly. "Believe that, or not, history says it's a fearsome and immortal thing. And only fools ignore history."

Alessa looked at Alistair in consternation. "That doesn't sound like something we can fight alone," she said. "Can we contact the rest of the Grey Wardens? Ask them for help?"

"Cailan already summoned them," Alistair told her with a shrug. "They'll come if they can, but... I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them." He looked out across the lake. "We must assume they won't arrive in time."

"Loghain," Alessa echoed, shaking her head. "I still can't believe it. He's supposed to be a bloody hero! What could he hope to gain from this?"

Alistair shrugged. "The throne? He's the queen's father, after all." He shook his head. "Still, I can't see how he'll get away with this. He might as well have murdered Cailan with his own hands!"

Alessa glanced at him, surprised by the strength of the emotion in his words.

"You speak as if he would be the first king to gain his throne that way," Flemeth pointed out in a derisive tone. "Grow up, boy."

Alistair rounded on her angrily. "If Arl Eamon knew what he did," he said grimly, "he would _never_ stand for it. The _Landsmeet_ would never stand for it! There would be civil war!"

"Arl Eamon?" Alessa asked suddenly. Alistair's words had triggered a flash of memory, of Duncan and King Cailan discussing whether or not the Arl of Redcliffe's men should be sent for to join the army. Her eyes widened. "He wasn't at Ostagar – he still has his knights and soldiers! Do you... do you think he might be able to help us? Would he even believe us?"

Alistair looked at her thoughtfully. "It's possible. I was raised in Castle Redcliffe; the arl knows me – and trusts me, I hope. And he was Cailan's uncle. Once he knows what Loghain did..." His tone became more hopeful, his face animated. "He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet." He smiled at Alessa. "Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

"Then we should head for Redcliffe without delay," Alessa said, caught up in Alistair's enthusiasm.

Flemeth laughed, and they both turned to look at her in surprise. "Such determination! How intriguing!"

The interruption seemed to cool Alistair's zeal. "I... don't know if Arl Eamon's help would be enough," he said dubiously. "We can't defeat the darkspawn horde with just his men, good as they are."

"Are there no other allies we could call on?" Alessa asked, not ready to give up her new-found hope.

Alistair smacked his palm against his forehead. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "The treaties!"

Alessa looked quizzically at him, not understanding the significance. She knew Duncan had considered the scrolls important, but not why.

"Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages and other places," Alistair explained. "They're _obligated _to help us during a Blight!"

Flemeth smiled and crossed her arms. "I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else – this sounds like an army, to me."

Alistair looked at Alessa, his eyes shining with hope. "Do you think we can do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places, and build an army?"

"I don't see why not," she responded with equal fervour. "Although," she added with a wry grin, "I doubt it will be quite as easy as you make it sound."

Alistair grinned back, his enthusiasm not dampened this time, and Flemeth laughed. "When is it ever?" she asked.

Alistair looked at Flemeth. "You were right," he said. "It's always been the Grey Wardens' duty to stand against the Blight." He turned his gaze on Alessa. "And right now, _we're_ the Grey Wardens."

Alessa nodded sombrely at him.

"So you are set, then?" Flemeth asked, looking from one to the other. "Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

Alessa exchanged a glance with Alistair, who seemed to be waiting for her to respond. She took a deep breath, and nodded. "As ready as we'll ever be."

Flemeth nodded, seeming pleased. "Now," she said, "before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you."

As she spoke, Morrigan came out of the hut and walked up to Flemeth. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear," she said. "Shall we have two guests for the eve?" She turned to look at Alistair and Alessa, and added hopefully. "Or none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl," Flemeth answered. "And you will be joining them."

"Such a shame," smirked Morrigan at Alessa and Alistair, and then whipped her head round to stare at her mother as she registered her final comment. "What?"

"What?" echoed Alistair and Alessa together, as startled as Morrigan was.

"You heard me, girl," Flemeth said, her attention remaining on her daughter. "The last time I looked, you had ears." She laughed.

"Uh, thank you," Alessa said, trying to be tactful, "but if Morrigan doesn't wish to join us—"

"Her magic will be useful to you," Flemeth interrupted, turning to look at Alessa, who wilted slightly under the intensity of the older woman's gaze. "Even better, she knows the Wilds, and how to get past the horde."

"Have _I_ no say in this?" Morrigan protested furiously.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years," her mother pointed out calmly. "Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens," she added, turning to them again, "consider this repayment for your lives." There was a faint undertone to her voice that made Alessa suddenly wary of crossing her.

Alistair was less cautious. "Was this your plan all along?" he asked suspiciously.

"Pardon me," Flemeth said dryly. "I had the impression that you two needed assistance – whatever the form."

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," Alistair said slowly, still unconvinced, "but – won't this _add_ to our problems?" He turned to Alessa, and jerked his head towards Morrigan. "Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us 'illegal mages', young man," Flemeth said acidly, "perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

Alistair looked a little sheepish. "Point... taken."

"Mother," Morrigan put in, and Flemeth looked at her. "This is not how I wanted this! I... I'm not even ready!" Her tone was petulant.

"You _must_ be ready," her mother told her. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight." She paused, and added, "Even I."

Morrigan looked down. "I... understand," she sighed.

"And you, Wardens," Flemeth asked. "Do _you_ understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

Alessa and Alistair shared a look. He didn't seem happy at the prospect, but he didn't offer any more protests, simply shrugged fractionally.

"We understand," Alessa answered for them both.

Morrigan sighed heavily. "Then allow me to get my things, if you please." She turned and disappeared into the house. After a moment, Flemeth followed her.

Despite her protests to her mother that she was not ready, it wasn't long before Morrigan re-appeared. "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens." She looked off into the distance. "I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination," she added. "It is not far, and you may find much you need there." She glanced at Alistair, and her brow furrowed slightly as she saw his sour expression. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your _silent_ guide. The choice is yours."

Alessa shook her head. "No, if you're coming with us, then you should feel free to speak your mind." She gave Alistair a quick, warning glance. "Don't you agree, Alistair?"

"From the way he glares," Morrigan said tartly, before he could answer, "I imagine that answer is clear."

"I do not glare!" Alistair muttered. "I just..." He looked at Alessa. "Do you really want to take her along because her _mother_ says so?"

"We need all the help we can get, Alistair."

He sighed. "I guess you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them."

"I am so pleased to have your approval," Morrigan said sarcastically.

Alessa rolled her eyes. "Enough, both of you. Let's just be on our way."

Morrigan inclined her head slightly in agreement, and turned to Flemeth, who had re-emerged from the hut and been watching the exchange with detached interest. "Farewell, Mother," she sighed. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah!" Flemeth scoffed. " 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area – along with my hut – swallowed up by the Blight!"

Morrigan looked chastened. "I... All I meant was..."

"Yes, I know," Flemeth said quietly. She smiled – an expression that looked eerily unnatural on her, Alessa thought uneasily – and added, "Do try to have fun, dear." With that, she turned and disappeared inside her hut.

Morrigan sighed, and then scowled at Alessa and Alistair. "Come then," she said brusquely, and set off into the forest.

oOo

As they followed Morrigan through the Wilds, Alessa attempted to alleviate the lingering tension by engaging her in conversation. "I'm grateful that your mother rescued Dane, as well as Alistair and I. Not all would have shown such consideration."

Dane barked, and Morrigan frowned. "Your hound? She did not. He arrived later, some hours after Mother retrieved you." Dane barked again, in agreement.

"Wow," Alistair said. "That's pretty impressive. How many darkspawn must he have fought his way through to get to you?"

Dane barked cheerfully at him.

"The mangy beast was in quite an alarming state when he arrived," Morrigan confirmed. "Covered in blood, not all his own."

"Hey!" Alistair protested. "He's not mangy. Are you, boy?"

Dane panted happily, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, and Alistair grinned back at him.

"Your mother healed Dane's injuries too, then?" Alessa asked, feeling an unexpected warmth towards the strange old woman.

"Not injuries alone," Morrigan said. "The animal was extremely ill – from the darkspawn blood he had ingested, I would assume."

Alessa looked at Dane in alarm. "Maker's blood! I hadn't even considered that."

"Nor I," Alistair said, his voice low and worried. "And I should have. The houndsmaster at Ostagar told me that some of the army's mabari had fallen sick after attacking darkspawn. It really distressed him." He looked at Alessa hopefully. "He looks fine now, though."

"He is," Morrigan confirmed carelessly. "Mother cured him. You need not fear the effects of darkspawn blood on him again."

Alessa let out a sigh of relief, and scratched Dane's ear. "Thank you, Morrigan."

The apostate shrugged uncomfortably. "'Twas Mother's work, not mine."

"Speaking of darkspawn," Alessa said thoughtfully, "what if we meet some in the Wilds? Do we fight them, or try to slip past without them noticing?"

Alistair sighed. "Getting past them without notice might not be an option. We Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn; conversely, they can sense us."

"I haven't sensed any darkspawn," Alessa commented, suddenly wondering if something had gone wrong with her Joining after all.

"You won't, right away, no." Alistair told her reassuringly, apparently picking up on her concern. "It takes time." He sighed. "We should be able to sneak past smaller groups, but larger ones, or particularly intelligent darkspawn – alphas or emissaries – will always detect us."

"Mother has given me something else for them to smell, instead, as we pass by." Morrigan interjected self-importantly. "It is important we head _out_ of the Wilds, however, not farther in."

"To this village in the north," Alessa nodded. "Tell me more about it."

"'Tis a small place, of little consequence," Morrigan replied, "called Lothering. No more than a stop along your Imperial Highway, where travellers purchase goods from local farms and smiths." She paused, and added, "_I_ would go more often, were it not for the town's chantry. It makes the village particularly intolerant and unfriendly for a stranger such as me."

"A chantry?" Alistair said in surprise. "And they never, in all this time, thought that, _maybe_, you were a witch?"

"Of course they have," Morrigan answered in amusement. "They even called out their templars once." She smiled. "They found nothing."

"Is going to Lothering really wise, then?" Alessa asked.

"I believe a visit to its tavern would be worthwhile, at least," Morrigan replied. "Travellers gather there with news from other places. And they are common enough that our appearance might go unnoticed." She added matter-of-factly, "Beyond that, it is close – and I know the way."

"Have you been outside the Wilds much?" Alessa asked Morrigan curiously.

"From time to time," the other woman nodded. "I have been to Lothering – watched its people and pondered what curious beings they are. On occasion I purchased goods from the village merchants. There I spoke with men, a little; there they stared—"

"I'll bet they did, if you were wearing that robe," Alistair muttered darkly.

"—and knew me as an outsider," Morrigan continued without batting an eyelid. She sighed dramatically. "Mother wishes for me to expand the horizon of my experience beyond the Wilds. Even she was not born here."

"Are you really Flemeth's daughter?" Alistair asked suddenly.

Morrigan stared at him icily. "'Twas she that raised me, and thus I consider her my mother, born from her womb or not. 'Tis what you meant, yes?"

Alistair flushed scarlet. "I-I didn't mean..."

"Just how old _is_ Flemeth?" Alessa interrupted, before he could dig himself any deeper.

"She would no more tell me than you, I assure you," Morrigan answered in an amused tone.

They walked a while in awkward silence, and then Alessa asked Morrigan curiously, "Your mother seemed to think that we were certain to fail without your help – do you have some special skills that we should know about?"

"I know a few spells," Morrigan replied modestly – although Alessa suspected the modesty was an act. "Though I am nowhere near as powerful as Mother. I have also studied history, and your Grey Warden treaties."

"Can you cook?" Alistair interjected, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"I... can... cook, yes," Morrigan responded slowly, frowning at him.

"Alistair!" Alessa chided, although she couldn't completely hide her own smile. "Ignore him, Morrigan. You don't have to cook."

Alistair sighed dramatically. "You missed your chance. Now it's charred rabbit from here on out." Dane barked enthusiastically at the mention of rabbit, and Alistair and Alessa shared an amused grin, but Morrigan did not seem to appreciate the joke, and she stalked on ahead.

Alessa sighed, and followed her.

The remainder of their journey was conducted largely in silence. Morrigan brushed off Alessa's attempts at further conversation, and Alistair lapsed into his own thoughts, his expression growing gloomier by the hour. He spoke only to warn them when there were darkspawn nearby, although his warnings proved unnecessary; whatever it was that Flemeth had given Morrigan to ward them off, it was effective.

They trudged on through the night; Alessa had no wish to remain in the Wilds any longer than necessary, and Alistair appeared to feel the same. The moonlight that barely filtered through the trees gave them just enough light to see by, and Morrigan led them confidently, apparently completely sure of where she was going, although Alessa could make out few distinguishing features in the forest through which they travelled.

The ever-present mist curled around their feet and legs as they walked, and its chill crept into Alessa's bones until she felt sure she would never feel warm again. Many times she stumbled over roots and rocks, unable to see the ground in front of her feet.

The sun was barely up when Morrigan finally led them out of the forest and onto the Imperial Highway. Ahead in the distance, Alessa could see a collection of buildings, smoke rising languidly from the chimneys of the larger ones.

Morrigan pointed. "Lothering."


	8. Lothering

**Lothering**

"Well," commented Alistair laconically. "There it is. Pretty as a painting."

"Ah," Morrigan said. "So, you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

"Morrigan!" Alessa said sharply, a little shocked at the other woman's callousness.

Alistair rounded on Morrigan. "Is my being upset so hard to understand?" he demanded angrily. "Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?" Morrigan enquired coolly.

"Right, very creepy," Alistair said uneasily. "Forget I asked." He turned away from the apostate, meeting Alessa's concerned gaze as he did so, and she could plainly see the grief in his eyes. Letting out a little sigh, he said quietly, "I'm sorry I've been so quiet. I was just... thinking."

"No wonder it took so long, then," Morrigan commented dryly.

"Oh," Alistair drawled with a levity that was paper thin, and plainly false, "I get it. This is where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life."

Morrigan glared at him. "I can be friendly when I desire to," she said acidly. "Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

"That's enough, Morrigan!" Alessa snapped.

The other woman subsided, scowling, and Alistair looked uncomfortable. "Anyway," he said with forced lightness, "I thought we should talk about where we intend to go, after Lothering." He nodded towards the town ahead.

Alessa nodded. "That's a good idea." She gave her fellow Warden an encouraging smile. "What are your thoughts, Alistair?"

"This should be good," murmured Morrigan, but she fell silent when Alessa threw a glare at her.

"I think," Alistair replied, pointedly ignoring Morrigan's comment, "that what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties – you never read them, did you?"

"Well, no," Alessa shrugged. "I haven't really had the chance."

Alistair gave her a rueful smile, and nodded. "Well, there are three main groups that we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. I also still think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help; we might even want to go to him first." He looked expectantly at Alessa.

"You're leaving it up to me?" she asked in surprise.

He shrugged awkwardly. "Well, _I_ don't know where we should go. I'll go along with whatever you decide."

"Now that is unsurprising," Morrigan commented neutrally.

"Arl Eamon is a good man," Alistair said defensively, "but I don't know for sure he's where we should go! And I'm not going to fight about it!" His voice quivered with strain.

Alessa nodded at him; he seemed close to losing control, and she did not wish to say or do anything to push him over the edge, especially not with Morrigan present. "We should see what we can learn in Lothering before making any final decisions," she said, "but I agree that going to see Arl Eamon is probably the best place to start. After that, we can see about the treaties." She paused, thinking. "I know where Redcliffe and the Circle Tower are, of course. I've never been to Orzammar, but I know how to get there. I know little of the Dalish elves, though – aren't they nomadic? How will we find them?"

"If we head eastward, towards the Brecilian forest, we should hear word of one of the clans that wanders that area," Alistair said confidently. "Hopefully they will still be there."

Alessa hesitated, and then asked, "What about Loghain? Where will he be?"

Alistair's face darkened, and he answered her in a carefully neutral tone. "If he isn't out in the field with his army, he's probably going to be at the palace in Denerim." He grinned humourlessly. "We should probably stay out of his way for now. Somehow, I don't imagine he's going to be much inclined to discuss his treachery over tea and cookies."

Alessa gave him a faint smile. In truth, she would dearly love to talk to the teyrn, and find out exactly why he had quit the field at Ostagar. But Alistair was right; until they knew more, it was best to lay low.

"On to Lothering, then?" Morrigan asked, looking expectantly from one to the other.

Alessa studied Alistair for a moment. He was tense, and she suspected he was just barely keeping his temper under control. She wasn't sure going into the village with him in this mood was wise; but more than that, she hated to see him so miserable.

Glancing at the other woman, she said, "Will you give us a few minutes, Morrigan? I need to speak to Alistair. Alone."

Both Morrigan and Alistair looked surprised. Not giving either one a chance to comment, Alessa took Alistair's arm and led him a short way down the highway, away from Lothering and from Morrigan. Dane whined a little, but stayed where he was at a gesture from his mistress.

When they were out of earshot, Alessa stopped and turned to Alistair.

"What is it?" he asked warily.

Alessa hesitated, wondering how to phrase her question, and then realised there was no right or easy way to say it. "Do you... do you want to talk? About Duncan and the others?" she asked quietly.

Alistair clenched his jaw. "You don't have to do that." He seemed outwardly composed, but Alessa could tell from his bearing that it was costing him dearly to maintain that façade. "I know you didn't know Duncan as long as I did."

"No, I didn't," she agreed gently. "But I respected him, and I'd like to think he could have been a friend, had there been time..." She sighed. "You're not the only one who mourns his loss."

Suddenly the mask slipped, and Alistair looked down, his grief written clearly on his face. "I... I should have handled it better," he muttered. He looked up again, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking away, into the forest. "Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen. Any of us could die in battle."

Alessa studied him for a moment. He was young – not much older than she, if she was any judge; but even so, she wouldn't have expected him to be quite so affected by the death of a comrade. This seemed to be something more. "He wasn't just your commander, was he?" She guessed shrewdly. "He was like a father to you."

Alistair nodded slowly, and was quiet for a long moment. Then he took a deep breath and met Alessa's gaze. "But I shouldn't have lost it, not when so much is riding on us, not with the Blight, and... and everything. I'm sorry."

_It's too much,_ Alessa thought sadly. _All of this, it's too much, resting on just the two of us._

_But we're the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden. If we don't carry the burden, who will?_

"There's no need to apologise," she told him sincerely.

Alistair was silent for another moment, thinking. Then he said quietly, "I'd... like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once this is all done – if we're still alive." He sighed, and added sadly, "I don't think he had any family to speak of."

"He had the Wardens," Alessa said softly. "And he had you."

Alistair smiled sadly. "I suppose he did." The smile faded away as quickly as it had come. "It probably sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I had been with him, in the battle." He swallowed. "I feel like I abandoned him."

Alessa put a hand on his arm, and he looked at it in surprise. "It doesn't sound stupid at all," she said. The sudden lump in her throat made her voice sound odd to her ears. "I understand completely."

"Of course," he mused aloud, "I'd be dead then, wouldn't I? It's not like that would make him happier." He shook his head. "I think he came from Highever, or so he said. Maybe I'll go up there sometime – see about putting up something in his honour. I don't know." He sighed and looked at Alessa, frowning slightly when he caught the expression on her face. "You really do understand, don't you? Have you... lost someone close to you?"

Alessa swallowed convulsively, closing her eyes, and Alistair added hurriedly, "Not that I mean to pry, I'm just—"

"It's all right," she interrupted him. "You've been open with me, and it works both ways, right?" She looked at him through suddenly misty eyes. "I... My father and mother... they were murdered by Arl Howe's men, when they attacked our castle. My father was..." She squeezed her eyes shut again, but the images hung before her eyes, whether they were open or closed. "My father was mortally wounded in the attack, and there was... there was nothing we could do for him. Duncan got me out of there, but Father couldn't be moved, and Mother... she wouldn't leave his side." She swallowed tightly. "I didn't want to either, but Father practically ordered me to go." She opened her eyes, to find Alistair looking at her in horror. "Howe wasn't taking any hostages. His men had already murdered my brother's wife and their son – my nephew." Her eyes filled with tears. "He was just a little boy..."

"Oh, Alessa," Alistair said, in a very small voice, "I should have remembered... Duncan told me about the attack – how could I be so stupid?" He shook his head, angry at himself. "Here I am, going on and on about Duncan, and you..." He reached his hand out, as if wanting to comfort her, but then dropped it again, awkwardly. "What of your brother?" he asked quietly.

Alessa took a deep breath, and dashed her tears away with her gauntlet. She answered shakily, "Fergus... my brother... he wasn't in the castle when Howe's men attacked. He'd already left for Ostagar, ahead of my father." She looked up at Alistair, fighting back more tears. "The king... he said Fergus and his men were scouting in the Wilds when I arrived at Ostagar, and that there was no way to recall them before the battle."

"But then... perhaps he yet lives," Alistair said, and the hope in his voice for her almost broke her remaining self-control. She wanted to believe that, but...

She shook her head, trembling. "If Howe didn't get to him, the darkspawn surely did. I'd be a fool to hope..." She swallowed and lifted her chin. "Fergus is gone too. I... I must accept that."

Alistair looked distraught. "Oh, Alessa – I am _so_ sorry."

"Don't," Alessa said quietly. "I didn't tell you to make you feel bad, or feel sorry for me. I just..." She met his eyes. "I understand what you're going through."

"Yes," he said softly. "You really do, don't you?" He suddenly grasped her hand. "Thank you. Really, I mean it. It helped to talk about it, at least a little."

Alessa nodded, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. She looked down at his hand, folded gently around her own. Even through the leather of their gauntlets, she fancied she could feel some warmth from his touch. It was comforting.

She collected herself, and looked up to meet his eyes. "I know I didn't know Duncan well," she said, "but I'd like to go to Highever with you, when you go."

Alistair smiled. "I'd like that. So would he, I think." He looked past her and sighed, letting go of her hand. "I suppose we should get back to the witch, before she decides to hex your hound out of boredom."

Alessa glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze. Morrigan was pacing impatiently to and fro, throwing them dark looks. She turned back to Alistair and nodded. "We should. But... can you at least try to be nice to her? For my sake? Listening to you two bickering is starting to give me a headache." She smiled at him to take the sting out of her words.

"I'll be nice if she is," he muttered darkly, then caught her frown and threw his hands up in defeat. "All right... I'll _try_! But I'm doing it for you, not for her,"

Morrigan looked at them curiously as they rejoined her, but said nothing. They'd barely taken ten paces towards Lothering, however, before Morrigan piped up, in an ominously sweet voice, "I have a wonder, Alistair, if you will indulge me."

Alistair glanced at Alessa, who shrugged. He sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

Morrigan smiled. "Of the two of you that remain, are you not the senior Grey Warden here?" Her smiled turned almost predatory. "I find it curious that you allow another to lead, while you follow."

Alistair reddened slightly, and turned to Alessa as if seeking help, but her own curiosity on the subject got the better of her, and she simply arched her brows at him.

"You find that curious, do you?" Alistair asked Morrigan evasively.

"In fact," pursued Morrigan, "you defer to a new recruit. Is this a policy of the Grey Wardens? Or simply a personal one?"

"What do you want to hear?" he burst out angrily. "That I prefer to follow?" He glanced at Alessa, looking mortified. "I do," he added, more quietly.

"You sound so very defensive," Morrigan purred.

"Couldn't you crawl into a bush somewhere and die?" Alistair muttered darkly. "That would be great, thanks." He subsided into a sulky silence. Morrigan opened her mouth to say something else, but then she caught sight of Alessa's warning glare, and thought better of it.

So that was why Alistair had been leaving the decisions up to her, Alessa mused. He wanted her to lead, so that he wouldn't have to. She could understand that, but she wasn't sure she liked it. The thought of being the one in charge alarmed her, probably just as much as it did Alistair. She'd never had to be a decision maker, at least not about anything important; that had always been the domain of her parents.

But they had no one else to look to for guidance now. They were Grey Wardens, and they were going to have to act like it. That meant one of them was going to have to take the initiative, and if it wasn't going to be Alistair...

As they neared the village, a figure clad in leather armour walked forward from what appeared to be a makeshift barricade across the highway, made of crates and an upturned wagon. "Wake up gentlemen!" he cried cheerfully. "More travellers to attend to."

A handful of other men roused themselves from their positions along the barricade, a couple of them coming to stand on either side of the original speaker.

"I'd guess the pretty one is the leader," the first man continued, leering at Alessa.

Alistair put a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Show the lady some respect," he growled.

One of the other men turned to the first one. "Uhhhh... they don't look much like them others, you know – maybe we should just let these ones past." He sounded half-witted, and yet his caution betrayed a common sense that the others seemed to lack.

"Nonsense," his fellow disagreed. He turned back to Alessa. "Greetings, travellers!"

"Highwaymen," Alistair said in a low tone, contempt clear in his voice, "preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose."

"They are fools to get in our way," Morrigan commented, making no attempt to keep her voice quiet. "I say, teach them a lesson."

"Now, is that any way to greet someone?" laughed the leader. "A simple ten silvers, and you're free to move on."

"You should really listen to your friend," Alessa warned. "We're not refugees. And you're not toll collectors."

The man grinned. "Not much gets past you, I see."

"You can forget it," Alessa announced, crossing her arms. "We're not paying."

"Can't say I'm pleased to hear that," he responded. "We have rules, you know."

"Right," agreed the half-witted one. "We get to ransack your corpse, then. Those are the rules." He smiled meanly and eagerly, and any sympathy Alessa might have felt for him dissolved.

Fixing the bandits' leader with a steady glare, she uncrossed her arms and smoothly drew her sword and dagger. Alistair followed her lead, and Dane growled fiercely. "Take a good look," Alessa warned the leader. "Look at our armour and weapons. Look at the staff my friend is carrying," she gestured at Morrigan, "and think about what it means." Taking that as a cue, the apostate's brow furrowed in concentration, and Alessa's blades suddenly sparkled with frost. The bandits looked at them, wide-eyed, and began murmuring uneasily amongst themselves.

Alessa smiled grimly, and continued, "Now. Do you _really_ want to fight us? Or are you going to surrender, and keep your lives?"

One of the bandits muttered a curse and ran, and others shifted their feet in readiness to do the same. The leader licked his lips nervously, and glanced at the others, seeing the fear in their eyes. "All right!" he muttered, holding his open hands out towards Alessa. "We surrender." His voice took on a pleading tone. "We're just trying to get by, before the darkspawn get us all."

"Get by?" Alistair retorted angrily. "You're a criminal, and most likely a murderer!"

"Yes," nodded the leader. "I'm a criminal. I admit it. I... apologise?" He looked at Alessa hopefully. "There aren't any soldiers here any more, so we... help ourselves. We _try_ not to hurt anyone too much."

"No soldiers?" frowned Alessa. "Where did they go?"

"The bann took his men north with Teyrn Loghain," the bandit leader explained. Alistair hissed through his teeth at the name. "There's no one looking out for the village now except a few templars at the chantry." He looked pleadingly at Alessa. "I was just trying to feed my family."

Alessa ignored his pathetic attempt to curry sympathy. "Teyrn Loghain came through here?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "What did he say of the battle at Ostagar?"

"I didn't exactly speak to him myself, you understand," the bandit said warily. "But everyone's saying how the Grey Wardens betrayed the king during the darkspawn fight—"

"What?" Alistair almost snarled.

"—got him and themselves killed," the bandit leader finished, casting nervous sideways glances at Alistair, whose knuckles were turning white from clenching his fist around his sword's pommel in rage. "Teyrn Loghain pulled out just in time," the bandit added. "First thing he's doing as regent, is putting a bounty on Grey Wardens."

Alessa's blood ran cold. _Regent? He's made himself regent?_

She'd been holding on to the hope that there was some reasonable explanation for Loghain's actions at Ostagar that she simply hadn't seen yet. A part of her had refused to believe that the Hero of River Dane would betray his king, leave his countrymen to die, and simply _flee_.

But to make himself regent? Worse, to name the _Grey Wardens_ as the betrayers?

Try as she might, Alessa couldn't see those as anything but the actions of someone making a play for control of Ferelden. Perhaps even for the throne itself. Alistair, it seemed, had been right.

Alessa exchanged a grim look with Alistair. They were going to have to tread carefully from now on.

Alistair nodded his head towards the bandits. "What do we do with them? If the bann's men are gone, there's no authority to turn them over to. Except perhaps the chantry, but..." He glanced at Morrigan, his meaning clear. Marching straight to the village chantry might not be their best plan with an apostate in their midst.

"You could let us go," the bandit leader suggested hopefully.

Alessa gave the man a fierce look. "Do you swear to find honest work, if we do?"

"Yes, of course!" he agreed heartily.

"And you'll turn over everything you stole," Alistair added.

The man eyed them, a sour look on his face. Alistair raised his sword threateningly, and the bandit hastily untied a leather purse from his waist and tossed it towards them; it landed with a thunk at Alessa's feet. "All the coins we collected are right there," he whimpered. "That's all of it, I swear!"

Alessa nodded. "Then start running. And don't come back. And if I ever catch you robbing people again..."

"You won't!" he cried, backing slowly away. "Bless you!" He turned tail and fled, the other bandits hot on his heels.

Morrigan sighed in disappointment.

Alessa exhaled slowly, and re-sheathed her blades. She hadn't been bluffing, not exactly – she would have shown the bandits the error of their ways at the point of her sword, if they'd forced her. But she was relieved they hadn't. She bent to pick up the leather purse, and looked at Alistair. "What should we do with this?" she asked, holding it up.

Alistair looked thoughtful. "If the bann were here, I'd suggest turning it over to him. But as he's not..." He looked sombrely at Alessa. "We're going to need coin to feed and supply ourselves, at least in the short term. I don't like to say it, but..." He trailed off guiltily.

Alessa nodded. "You're right."

"I am?" he asked, sounding slightly surprised. Alessa smiled.

She looked around and her smile faded as her gaze fell on a body lying at the side of the highway. A previous victim of the bandits, she assumed, that they hadn't got around to disposing of. They hadn't even stripped his armour, or removed his shield, all of which were of good quality. The man had been a knight, Alessa judged.

"Those are Redcliffe arms," Alistair frowned, coming to her side. "But I don't recognise him."

Alessa glanced at him, and then looked at the fallen knight again. "You should take that shield," she told Alistair.

"What?" He shook his head, looking appalled. "No, I couldn't..."

Alessa sighed. "I know it sounds awful. But you need a shield, and it's not like it's of any use to him now." She looked into her fellow Warden's eyes earnestly. "I'm sure he'd sooner it was used in a good cause, than left behind for scavengers to find."

_Of course, we've pretty much just become scavengers ourselves,_ she thought wryly, but she kept that thought to herself. Alistair nodded reluctantly, and slowly bent to retrieve the knight's shield.

They headed warily into the village. The fields surrounding it were filled with bedrolls and makeshift tents, and refugees wandered aimlessly among them. Alessa noted with distress that a large number of them were children.

As they entered the village itself, a templar hailed them. "You there! If you're looking for shelter, I must warn you – there's none to be found. Move on if you can – Lothering's lost." There was a note of despair in his voice that chilled Alessa.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

The templar sighed. "We've had refugees streaming from the south for the last two days. The chantry and tavern are full to bursting. There isn't enough food to go around, and we templars can barely keep order. You'd be better off elsewhere."

"Are you refusing us entry?" Alessa asked warily.

The templar shook his head. "I'm simply warning you that things might not be as hospitable as you'd expect. People are frightened."

Alessa thanked him for the warning, and they headed past him into the village, past yet more makeshift camps and refugees. They saw the chantry ahead, and Alessa shared a glance with Alistair. "Let's try the tavern, first," she suggested. Alistair nodded.

As they crossed the small stone bridge over a stream that divided the village in two, Alistair glanced at Morrigan. "So tell me something, Morrigan. Did you live there in that forest your entire life?"

Morrigan frowned at him slightly, as if trying to determine if he was mocking her. Apparently deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she replied neutrally, "I left it on occasion, but I always returned. Why? Is that so strange? It was my home."

"But it was just you and your mother there?" Alistair asked. "No one else?"

"Mother occasionally had... company." Morrigan replied, not meeting his eyes.

Alistair shared a disturbed glance with Alessa, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Company? Do I even want to ask?"

"No," Morrigan said firmly, in a tone that invited no further comment. "You really don't."

Still trying to get the image of Flemeth entertaining 'company' out of her head, Alessa pushed open the door of the tavern, which the board hanging outside proclaimed to be named Dane's Refuge.

Despite the early hour, the tavern was already bustling with activity. A number of heads turned to watch their entrance, but most gave them only a cursory glance before returning to whatever they'd been doing. A small group of soldiers, however, continued to study them as they walked towards the rough wooden bar. One of them – the commander, to judge by his bearing – had the yellow wyvern of Gwaren emblazoned on his armour.

"Well," he said, moving to intercept them. "Look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed." He smiled unpleasantly.

"Uh oh," Alistair said quietly. "Loghain's men." He looked at Alessa and murmured, "This can't be good."

"Didn't we spend all morning asking about a man and a woman by this very description?" one of the other soldiers asked the commander. "And everyone said they hadn't seen them."

Alessa tensed, mentally berating herself; she should have expected something like this. Loghain knew that she and Alistair hadn't been with the rest of the Grey Wardens – it only made sense that he'd have men looking for them.

"It seems we were lied to," the commander nodded, glaring at them.

A pretty young red-haired woman wearing a Chantry robe walked up to them. "Gentlemen," she said, addressing the commander, "surely there is no need for trouble?" She gestured towards Alessa and Alistair. "These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge." She had an innocent air, no doubt helped by her slight lisp and disarming smile. It wasn't the lisp that caught Alessa's attention, though.

_That's an Orlesian accent. What in the Maker's name is an Orlesian doing here, dressed as a Chantry sister?_

"They're more than that!" the commander told the newcomer angrily. "Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them."

"We're no traitors!" Alistair said hotly. Alessa gave him a slight shake of her head, and he subsided, settling for matching the commander's glare.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, Sister," Alessa told the young woman warily, "but we don't need your help. You should stand back."

The red-haired girl looked seriously at her. "_You_ don't need my protection, but these men," she gestured around at the soldiers, "will blindly follow their master's command, even unto death."

"I am not the blind one," the commander snapped. "I served at Ostagar, where the teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens' treachery. I serve him gladly." He turned to the soldier by his side. "Enough talk! Take the Wardens into custody. Kill the sister if you have to, and anyone else that gets in your way."

"Right," said the soldier. "Let's make this quick!"

They drew their weapons and attacked, but Alessa and Alistair were ready for them. Along with Dane and Morrigan, they fended off the soldiers' initial attacks. To Alessa's surprise, the Chantry sister joined in the fight as well, pulling out a pair of daggers from somewhere in the folds of her robe and attacking the nearest soldier.

The soldiers fought with determination; Alessa and Alistair were forced to respond in kind, and soon one of Loghain's men lay groaning in agony, another unconscious. Realising the odds were not in his favour, and worsening by the minute, the commander dropped his sword and held his empty hands outwards. "All right! You've won. We surrender."

The other two soldiers yielded their weapons as well, and the red-haired sister nodded in satisfaction. "Good. They've learned their lesson, and we can all stop fighting, now."

"The Grey Wardens didn't betray King Cailan!" Alistair panted, glaring angrily at the commander. "_Loghain_ did."

"I was there!" the commander retorted, his expression just as furious as Alistair's. "The teyrn pulled us out of a trap."

"Your teyrn left the king to die!" Alessa said sharply.

"The Wardens led the king to his death," Loghain's commander argued, his eyes blazing with hatred. "The teyrn could do nothing!"

Alessa shook her head sadly. "You really are blind." She sighed. "I want you to take a message to Loghain."

"Is that _wise_?" Alistair hissed in aside to her.

"Perhaps not," Alessa countered. "But I don't like being called a traitor. I want Loghain to know we won't just sit back and take his false accusations. Don't you?"

Alistair nodded, his expression sour.

"Besides," she added, "we'll be long gone before he can send more men here." She turned back to the commander. "Will you take the message?"

"What do you want to tell him?" the commander asked warily.

"Tell him that the Grey Wardens know what really happened. Tell him..." She set her jaw grimly. Loghain wasn't a man to challenge lightly. But neither could they afford to appear weak to him. "Tell him we mean to stop the Blight – and we _will_ deal with any obstacles that prevent us doing so. "

The commander's eyes widened, and he nodded unhappily – no doubt imagining his teyrn's reaction to being given such news. "I'll tell him." He signalled his soldiers and, with the uninjured ones helping the wounded men, they made a hasty exit from the tavern.

"I apologise for interfering," the sister said, turning to Alessa, "but I couldn't just sit by and not help."

"So I saw," Alessa commented, frowning. "Where does a sister learn to fight like that?"

The redhead smiled. "I wasn't born in the Chantry, you know. Many of us had more... colourful... lives before we joined. Let me introduce myself – I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering." She hesitated and added, "Or I was."

"A lay sister?" Alessa asked.

"I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation, but I am no priest. Not even an initiate," Leliana explained.

Alessa nodded warily. The other girl seemed pleasant enough, and she had certainly been trying to help in the fight with Loghain's men; she'd undoubtedly tipped the odds in their favour. But Alessa couldn't quite ignore the nagging uneasiness that the girl's accent inspired. She liked to think of herself as fair-minded, but she had grown up hearing her father's stories of the Orlesian occupation. Bryce Cousland had fought with Maric's rebel army, and his deep-seated distrust of Orlesians had been instilled in his children.

Nevertheless, the sister had done nothing to earn anything but civility. "I'm Alessa," she introduced herself, "and this is Alistair and Morrigan." Leliana nodded, and Alessa added astutely, "Was there a particular reason why you helped us fight Loghain's men?"

Leliana smiled ruefully. "Perhaps. Those men said you are Grey Wardens. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do." She glanced round the tavern. "After what happened, I think you will need all the help you can get. " She fixed her gaze confidently on Alessa. "That's why I'm coming along."

"Excuse me?" spluttered Alistair.

"Why would you want come with us?" Alessa asked, her doubts resurfacing.

"The Maker told me to," Leliana stated, wide-eyed.

"Right," Alessa said slowly, struggling to suppress a sceptical laugh.

Morrigan stared disdainfully at the girl, and Alistair crossed his arms and said sardonically, "I believe this is where we all back away slowly."

"I-I know that sounds absolutely insane," Leliana said earnestly, "but it's true! I had a dream! A vision!"

"More crazy?" asked Alistair. "And here I thought we were all full up." He glanced at Morrigan as he spoke, and she glared at him.

"Look at the people here," Leliana said, gesturing around at the tavern's occupants.. "They are lost in their despair, and this darkness – this chaos – will spread! The Maker doesn't want this." She looked intently at Alessa. "What you do – what you are _meant_ to do – is the Maker's work. Let me help."

"You don't know what you're asking," Alessa said. "Fighting darkspawn is not like fighting men."

"I am not afraid," Leliana protested. "As I said, I was not always a lay sister." She smiled shyly. "I put aside that life when I came here, but now – if it is the Maker's will, I will take it up again. Gladly! Please let me help you."

Alessa considered the girl's offer, resisting her instinct to dismiss it out of hand.

It all felt so terribly _wrong_. How had her world tilted so badly that Teyrn Loghain and Arl Howe were now her enemies, and an _Orlesian_ was an ally?

But with the odds so stacked against them, they could ill afford to turn down anyone willing to fight with them. And Leliana was clearly no stranger to fighting. Alessa sighed, and then nodded slowly. "Very well. I will not turn away anyone willing and able to help."

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought," Morrigan said derisively.

"Are you serious?" Alistair asked tentatively.

Alessa nodded at him. "Very. We're going to need all the help we can get, you know that. Besides," she added with a sigh, "Loghain's men will be back, eventually. Something tells me they won't be feeling very charitable towards someone who helped us fight them."

"Good point," Alistair conceded. He looked critically at Leliana, and added, "We're going to need to find her some better armour than that Chantry robe if she's actually going to fight with us, though."

"I have armour," Leliana said shyly. "As I said, I was not always—"

"A lay sister," Alessa finished for her, and the redhead smiled at her.

_But the question is, if you were not always a sister, what _were_ you?_

"Thank you," Leliana said fervently. "I appreciate being given this chance. I will not let you down."

Alessa nodded distractedly, eyeing the swords that Loghain's men had left behind. "We may as well take those. I'd say we earned them, and we might be able to trade them for supplies."

_Scavengers, indeed._

Alistair nodded, and fished a leather strap from his pack to bundle the weapons up.

Alessa glanced over at the grizzled, dark-haired man standing behind the tavern's bar. He was watching her warily, arms crossed in front of him. She walked slowly over to him.

"You going to make more trouble?" he asked tetchily. "We've about all we can stand in Lothering, now."

"We're not here to make trouble," Alessa reassured him, "and we weren't the ones who started it." She fished a few coins from her purse, and pushed them across the bar towards him. "Even so, I'm sorry for the... disruption."

He relaxed and took the coins. "Well, those boys were trouble themselves, to tell the truth." He smiled faintly. "Right, then. Name's Danal. I'm sorry I can't chat much, but as you see, we've a full house."

Alessa understood the hint behind the words – he might have accepted her assurance that they meant to cause no trouble, and even accepted her coin – but he'd still be happier if they left his tavern. They'd come for information, however, and the tavern owner was the most likely source for it.

She pushed a few more coins across the bar. "Ale for me and my friends," she said. As he poured out four flagons of ale, she leaned on the bar. "Is there any news from Ostagar? Or any other rumours we should know?" she asked casually.

"Nothing from Ostagar, beyond the reports from Teyrn Loghain's men." Danal eyed them all nervously. "You heard what they had to say for yourselves. Aside from that, let's see – there's knights from Redcliffe roaming the countryside, looking for the place where Andraste's sacred ashes are said to lie. Can you believe that? The urn holding her ashes is a myth, everyone knows that – and yet these knights say they were sent to find it anyhow – to heal Arl Eamon."

"Heal him?" Alistair asked in alarm, his ale forgotten. "What's wrong with him?"

Danal shrugged. "I didn't even know he was ill." He shuddered. "Maybe he has the Blight. If so, then times are even darker for Ferelden than any of us thought."

"Are any of these knights in Lothering now?" Alessa asked, taking a pull at her ale.

Danal frowned. "I think I heard that one of them was staying at the chantry, studying their religious texts. I don't know if he's still there, though."

Alessa thanked the man, and they moved away from the bar, leaving the half-empty flagons behind. Alistair exchanged a worried look with Alessa. "If Arl Eamon's really ill..." he said.

She nodded. "We should go to the chantry, see if this knight is still there. If he is, he'll be able to tell us the truth of it."


	9. The Qunari Prisoner

**The Qunari Prisoner**

They left the tavern, blinking a little as they exited into the bright mid-morning light. Alessa looked around to get her bearings, and as she did so her gaze fell on a large cage, near the edge of the village.

There was someone inside it.

"The chantry is this way," Leliana said, walking towards the stone bridge – away from the cage. Alistair and Morrigan started to move in the same direction..

"Wait," Alessa called to them, and they turned round. She headed towards the cage, and after a moment they followed her.

As they approached the cage, Alessa could hear its occupant speaking to himself. The language, however, was unfamiliar to her. The man inside the cage had an exotic look; he was a giant of a man – easily head and shoulders taller than Alistair, who was hardly short – and sturdily built, with dark olive skin and fierce lavender eyes that seemed to be edged with red. His white hair was pulled back from his face in a series of severe braids which were in turn pulled into a tight ponytail.

She moved to stand in front of the cage, and the man stopped speaking abruptly and regarded her without any apparent emotion. "You are not one of my captors," he said stonily. "I will not amuse you, any more than I have any of the other humans. Leave me in peace."

"You're a prisoner?" Alessa asked. "Who put you here?"

The man scowled fiercely. "I'm in a cage, am I not? I've been placed here by the Chantry."

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family," Leliana elaborated, her tone quiet and solemn. "Even the children."

"It is as she says," he confirmed.

"Maker!" Alistair muttered under his breath.

"I am Sten, of the Beresaad," the captive added, "vanguard of the qunari peoples."

"Qunari," breathed Alessa in awe, glancing at Alistair, who seemed to be equally taken aback. Many thought the tales of the qunari, giants that populated the far northern islands, to be but stories. To Alessa's knowledge, no qunari had ever been seen in Ferelden.

Until now.

"If you haven't heard of us," Sten replied, apparently mistaking her response for a question, "that is your own shortcoming. Though it matters little now. I will die soon enough." The qunari's statement was delivered in a matter-of-fact tone, yet there was a sadness in his voice and his bearing that Alessa found troubling.

"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn," commented Morrigan with disapproval. "If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone."

"Mercy?" Alistair's surprise sounded genuine. "I wouldn't have expected that from _you_."

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage," Morrigan added without skipping a beat.

"Yes," Alistair responded dryly, "_that's_ what I would have expected."

"I suggest you leave me to my fate," the qunari said.

Alessa arched her brows. "Are you guilty, then?"

"Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?" Sten countered. "However I feel – whatever I've done – my life is forfeit now."

Alessa frowned at the finality in the qunari's voice. She wasn't sure why the qunari's fate interested her so, but she felt something was badly wrong. He seemed almost indifferent to his crime – neither proud of it, nor openly remorseful for it – yet there was that sense of deep sadness about him, as if he regretted his actions so deeply that it was in his very bones. "What if it didn't have to be? What if there was a way you could atone for your actions?"

"I'm not sure I like where you're going with this," Alistair murmured.

"Death will be my atonement." The qunari's tone was flat.

"There are other ways to redeem yourself," Alessa suggested.

"Perhaps. What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

She frowned, uncertain whether the qunari was being sarcastic. "You could help me fight against the Blight."

"The Blight!" There was a hint of animation in Sten's expression for the first time. "Are you a Grey Warden then?"

"You know of the Grey Wardens?"

"My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill," he answered, a note of approval in his voice. He studied Alessa and the others for a moment, and added with a hint of disappointment, "Though I suppose not every legend is true."

Alessa crossed her arms. "Be that as it may, Alistair and I are Grey Wardens, yes. And we need help to fight the Blight now rising in Ferelden. - a Blight that, if it is not checked, will eventually threaten all of Thedas, your people included. If we could arrange for your release, will you join us in that fight?"

Sten nodded. "It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."

_Not quite the response I was hoping for, _Alessa thought. But it would do. She turned to Leliana. "Do you think the Revered Mother might be persuaded to release him?"

Leliana shrugged uncertainly. "Perhaps, if you explain to her that the Grey Wardens require his assistance. I do not know." She looked at the caged giant in sympathy. "But to be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn – no one deserves that. Not even a murderer."

"Alessa, are you sure this is a good idea?" Alistair said in a low voice. "What makes you think you can trust him not to slaughter us, too, the first chance he gets?"

"I don't know," she replied, honestly. "It just... feels like the right thing to do." She gave him a wry grin. "Besides, you're assuming we'll let him get that chance."

Alistair matched her grin, and nodded. "Fair enough. So, time for a visit to the chantry then?"

"Past time," Alessa nodded. She glanced at Morrigan. "Perhaps you should stay here. You _are_ an apostate in their eyes – walking right into the chantry might be tempting fate just a little too much." Morrigan nodded a little too quickly, and Alessa narrowed her eyes, imagining the kinds of chaos the apostate could cause if she had a mind to. "It would be best if you wait for us right here. And try not to upset anyone?" She glanced down at the Mabari war hound. "Stay with her, Dane."

"I do not need a keeper," Morrigan protested sullenly.

"Then consider him a protector," Alessa said with a smile, and gestured for Alistair and Leliana to accompany her.

As they walked towards the chantry, Alessa couldn't help taking note of the small huddles of people they passed. Without exception, they looked scared and dispirited. Parents comforted crying children while they eyed each other with desperation. Men muttered uneasily amongst themselves, and Alessa caught words like 'darkspawn' and 'doomed'.

She exchanged a glance with Alistair, and found his eyes mirroring her own troubled heart. These people had been abandoned by their bann, and now, with no-one to tell them what to do, they were simply waiting around hopelessly. The thought that villagers and refugees alike might simply sit in Lothering until the darkspawn horde swept down upon them was distressing. But what could be done? Without the bann's men, the village had little means of defence. Its inhabitants might be better to follow their bann's example, and abandon the village, but she feared convincing them to do so would be futile. In desperate times, without solid leadership, people clung to what they knew.

She and Alistair could try to provide that leadership, and perhaps people would even listen to them. But could they really spare the time that would require? Every day they tarried would be a delay in gathering the allies they needed to fight the Blight, and if the Blight was not defeated, then one village would be nothing against the losses Ferelden would suffer.

Alessa sighed, and headed into the chantry, with Alistair and Leliana following. As they walked down the long hall, she noticed three templars ahead of them, deep in discussion.

"... word of darkspawn stragglers – but no sign of the main horde," she overheard as they neared the trio. "We are the only hope this village has of protection now, and I will not abandon them." The speaker nodded to the other two. "That is all. May the Maker have mercy on us."

The other two nodded crisply back to him and walked off. The speaker – the templars' commander unless Alessa missed her guess – looked round at their approach. "Yes, my lady? Who might you be?"

"My name is Alessa." She gestured towards her companions. "This is Alistair, and I assume you know Leliana."

"Indeed," the templar said, inclining his head briefly towards the redhead, and Alessa let out a breath. It had crossed her mind that the Orlesian girl might not actually be a sister at all, but clearly that was not the case. "I am Ser Bryant, commander of Lothering's remaining templars." He frowned slightly at Alessa. "You don't seem like a normal refugee. Are you one of Arl Eamon's knights?"

"No, I'm not," Alessa said. She considered telling the man that they were Grey Wardens; they were going to have to tell the Revered Mother, after all, if they were to ask her for the qunari's release. But caution held her tongue. "My apologies, Ser Bryant, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation," she said instead, hoping this would distract him from his curiosity. "You said your templars are the only protection this village has left. How do you plan to defend the people here from the darkspawn?"

A pained look crossed the templar's face. "Our bann was summoned by Teyrn Loghain, and he took his soldiers north with him, every last one. He abandoned the people of Lothering to their fate, but I will not do the same. I do not have sufficient men to protect the entire village, however; we will evacuate as many as we can before the horde reaches us." He spoke with quiet determination. "I will stay as long as I am needed. May the Maker grant us time to get everyone to safety."

Alessa nodded, relief sweeping over her. The idea of moving on from Lothering and leaving these people behind had been troubling her intensely. But Ser Bryant seemed a good and sensible man, and his plan to evacuate was a wise one, given the lack of trained fighters.

"We could use the help of seasoned warriors like yourselves," Ser Bryant added, his gaze flicking towards Alistair and then back to Alessa.

She sighed. "Would that we could, Ser Bryant. Believe me, if we did not have important business elsewhere..."

The templar studied her for a moment. "Grey Warden business, perhaps?" he asked, his expression neutral. Alessa raised her eyebrows, and the man smiled slightly. "I have heard few speak of darkspawn attacks so calmly as you, my lady."

Alessa gave him a rueful smile, and inclined her head in acknowledgement. "You are quite perceptive, Ser Bryant." _Yes, Lothering could be in far worse hands._

"Teyrn Loghain declared all Grey Wardens traitors, responsible for the king's death," the templar added, his tone one of concern rather than challenge. "You know this, I hope?"

Alessa chuckled grimly. "It's been... brought to our attention, yes. His claims are false, however."

Ser Bryant nodded. "I did not believe the Grey Wardens would be as careless or malicious as the teyrn claims." He shrugged. "But, either way, there it is. It is indeed best you not linger here, my lady."

"Thank you, Ser Bryant," Alessa said, appreciating the man's tacit support.

He bowed his head briefly to them. "Travel safely." Without a further glance, he walked past them, out of the chantry.

Alistair caught Alessa's eye. "At least not everyone is blindly following Loghain," he said quietly. "That's good, right?"

"Let's hope so."

They continued further into the chantry; as they passed him, a knight looked up from the book he was studying, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Alistair? Is that you?"

Alistair turned towards him, startled, and a look of recognition dawned on his face. "Ser Donall?"

"By the Maker, it _is_ you!" the knight cried, a smile widening on his face. "I was certain you were dead!"

"Not yet," Alistair said, and scowled. "No thanks to Teyrn Loghain." He almost spat the name out.

Ser Donall nodded. "If Arl Eamon were well, he'd set Loghain straight, soon enough."

Worry creased Alistair's brow. "Then the rumours are true – he _is_ ill." He frowned. "But if Arl Eamon is sick, why are you here?"

"Our only hope now is a miracle," Ser Donall said sadly. "Every knight of Redcliffe has gone in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes." He shook his head. "Andraste's ashes are said to cure _any_ illness – but I fear we are chasing a fable. With each day, my hope dims."

Alistair looked distressed, and Alessa wondered if they would get any good news, ever again.

"So your quest for the ashes brought you here?" she asked tentatively, as much to distract herself and Alistair from the news of the arl's illness as for anything else.

Ser Donall looked at her curiously, and Alistair started. "Ah, yes… sorry," he said awkwardly. "Ser Donall, this is Alessa..." he hesitated fractionally, and then continued, "a fellow Grey Warden." He turned to Alessa. "Ser Donall is one of Arl Eamon's knights – but I expect you managed to figure that out without my help."

He looked embarrassed at his own bumbling introduction, and she smiled gently at him.

Ser Donall glanced curiously at Alistair, then nodded to Alessa. "It is an honour, my lady. And yes – I expected to take advantage of the chantry's library in fact. But my skills are better suited to battle than chasing down tales."

"Have you learned anything here?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. The Urn of Sacred Ashes – the urn purported to contain the remains of Andraste – was a legend every child in Ferelden knew. But now Redcliffe had sent out knights to seek it; was it simply a desperate act, or could there actually be some truth to the legend after all?

"There are books here containing a great deal of lore," the knight said, shaking his head, "but nothing I have found leads me to believe that this was anything more than a quest of desperation." He sighed, and Alessa found herself sighing along with him. "I intend to return to Redcliffe soon and tell the arlessa exactly that," Ser Donall added, "as soon as Ser Henric arrives."

"Oh..." Alessa murmured, suddenly recalling the body they had found outside the village.

Realisation bloomed on Alistair's face as well, and he looked at Alessa uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely to Ser Donall. "I think your friend may be dead. We found a knight on the highway, just outside of the village – a victim of bandits, we believe."

"What?" Ser Donall gasped. "Maker's mercy... poor Henric." He looked at Alessa, distress evident in his eyes. "Thank you for telling me. I would never have known, otherwise."

"I'm sorry about your friend," Alessa said quietly, and Alistair echoed her.

"Thank you," Ser Donall said, bowing his head. He looked up, shaking his head. "I wonder how many of us have met similar fates on this mad quest?" he mused aloud, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "I fear I shall be returning to Redcliffe with nothing but bad news."

"Perhaps we will meet again there," Alessa said. "We had thought to journey to Redcliffe ourselves, in hopes of meeting with Arl Eamon."

"Why is that, if I may ask?" Ser Donall enquired.

"We need his help against the Blight," Alistair said. "And against Teyrn Loghain," he added darkly.

"I see," Ser Donall said sombrely. "The arl is a popular man, it's true." He shook his head. "Teyrn Loghain, however, is a hero throughout Ferelden. And whatever the teyrn has done – or not done – the arl remains ill, or worse. _That_ remains my primary concern."

An awful thought struck Alessa. "Do you think Loghain could be involved with the arl's illness?"

Alistair threw her a horrified look.

Ser Donall shook his head. "The arl fell ill before the king died," he said. But then he looked thoughtful, absently putting his hand to his brow. "But what if Loghain planned that too?" He shrugged as if to rid himself of the idea. "Oh, such thoughts do not sit well with me!"

"Nor with me," Alistair growled under his breath, clenching his fists momentarily. He took a deep breath, and turned to Alessa. "We should see what's happening at Redcliffe ourselves. I believe that now more than ever."

Alessa nodded at him. "I agree."

"If nothing else, I am certain you would be welcomed at Castle Redcliffe," Ser Donall said, and Alessa noticed that he seemed to be addressing Alistair more so than her. Alessa suddenly wondered what Alistair's connection to Redcliffe and to the arl was – she couldn't recall him having said any more than that he knew the arl, and had been raised in Redcliffe.

_In _Castle_ Redcliffe, _she inwardly corrected herself.

"The arlessa is there," Ser Donall added, "and she could tell you more than I could."

Alistair merely nodded, his expression glum. Probably absorbed in his concern for the arl, Alessa thought.

"Do you wish to travel with us, Ser Donall?" she asked the knight.

Ser Donall shook his head. "I must first make arrangements for Ser Henric, before I can return to Redcliffe." He bowed his head stiffly. "Thank you again, my lady." He nodded to Alistair, and then departed.

"Let's finish our business here quickly," Alessa suggested, and Alistair gave her a grateful nod.

They found the Revered Mother in her chambers off the main chantry hall. As they entered, she looked up and smiled in recognition. "Good day to you, Sister Leliana. I'm surprised to find you still in Lothering."

Alessa frowned thoughtfully at the cleric's words. It seemed Leliana had been leaving the chantry and Lothering, with or without them. Perhaps meeting her really had been simply a fortunate happenstance.

"It is good to see you as well, your Reverence," Leliana replied, bowing her head slightly.

"I do not recognise your companions," the older woman added, her gaze falling on Alessa and Alistair. "Greetings." She studied them for a moment. "Will you be making a donation to the chantry? Our need has never been greater."

Alessa smiled ruefully. She should have foreseen that, she supposed – and she could not, in good conscience, refuse the Revered Mother's request, especially when they were about to ask her for a favour. "Of course, your Reverence. I can spare ten silver, if that will be sufficient?"

"One out of one is a more generous gift than ten out of thousands," the Revered Mother smiled, accepting the coins from Alessa. "Is there anything I can do for you, my children?"

Alessa took a deep breath. "I would like to talk to you about Sten, the qunari you have caged at the edge of the village."

The Revered Mother's smile faded, and she rose from her chair. "It might have been kinder to execute him," she said, half to Alessa and half to herself, pacing to and fro, "but, I leave his fate to the Maker." She turned to them, frowning. "Why does he interest you?"

"I came to ask you for his release," Alessa stated, hoping her voice did not betray her nerves. If the Revered Mother refused her, what then?.

"Then his next victims might count you and me as their murderers," the Revered Mother responded, her frown deepening.

"I was hoping you might release him into my custody," Alessa continued. "I can assure you that I have no intention of allowing him to murder any more innocents," she added earnestly, "and we can put his skills in battle to good use – against the Blight."

"Indeed?" the Revered Mother asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. Then her brow furrowed. "You are Grey Wardens, then."

Alessa silently nodded. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair tense fractionally.

"Oh dear," the Reverend Mother said. "You put me in a difficult position. You must know that Teyrn Loghain declared the Grey Wardens to be outlaws."

"We've heard," Alessa responded, more harshly than she'd intended. Continually defending themselves against the teyrn's claims was beginning to weary her. "But it was _Loghain_ who betrayed the king."

"Teyrn Loghain?" the Revered Mother asked incredulously. "That is as hard for me to believe as is his condemnation of the Grey Wardens." She shook her head, and then looked first at Alessa and then Alistair, studying them closely. Finally she sighed. "There is a price on your head. Lay low, and I promise to keep your presence a secret. That is the best I can do. As for the qunari..." She frowned, and began to pace again. "Perhaps it would be a form of atonement, to employ his skills to defend against the Blight." She paused, and turned to Alessa. "But are you certain you can control him?"

"I am."

The Revered Mother considered a moment more, then came to a decision, albeit one she did not seem entirely confident in. "Were things not so desperate," she muttered dubiously. She sighed, and took a key from her robe, handing it to Alessa. "Here, then. Take the key to the qunari's cage, and take him away. I pray this is the right path, for all our sakes."

"Thank you, your Reverence," Leliana said earnestly. "Your trust is not misplaced."

"There is one other thing," Alessa said. "I assume Sten had armour and weapons when he was captured? We will need those."

The Revered Mother frowned. "He had no weapon. But armour, yes. It was sold to a local merchant, to benefit the chantry."

Alessa sighed. "I will find the merchant, then. Thank you, your Reverence."

The Revered Mother nodded to Alessa. "Now, if there is nothing else..."

"Actually," Alistair said tentatively, "I was hoping we might receive your blessing."

Alessa looked at him in surprise, and he looked slightly embarrassed. The Revered Mother's face softened. "Of course," she smiled. "I would be pleased."

Alessa, Alistair and Leliana knelt, and the Revered Mother held her hand out over Alessa's head. "In Andraste's name," she intoned, "I call upon the Maker to watch over his children and creations. Watch over their path, oh Maker. Give them light in darkness. So let it be."

"Thank you, your Reverence," Alistair said as they stood again.

The Revered Mother smiled at them as they took their leave, but Alessa thought she looked relieved to see them go.

"What?" Alistair muttered uncomfortably as they exited the chantry, glancing sideways at Alessa, who had been watching him curiously. "It's force of habit; I _was_ being trained as a templar, remember?" He glanced at her again, and then added quietly, "Besides – we could use all the help we can get, right?"

Alessa smiled. "Indeed."

While Leliana excused herself to fetch her things from the initiates' quarters, Alessa and Alistair headed towards a merchant who'd set up amongst the refugee tents. The merchant fawned over her, instantly recognising that here was someone to buy the things the refugees could not afford. Spending more of their coin than she'd hoped in addition to trading the swords, she managed to purchase tents, bedrolls, some spare clothing, and other needed supplies, along with packs to carry it all.

By a stroke of fortune, he also proved to be the merchant who had bought the qunari's armour, and he agreed to sell it back to them for only a small profit, after Alessa pointed out that he was unlikely to find any other buyers for armour made to fit a giant.

There was still the matter of a weapon for Sten, but since Alessa did not know what kind of weapon the qunari preferred, for now he would have to make do with one of the swords scavenged from Loghain's men.

As she turned away from the merchant, she caught a glimpse of something red in Alistair's hand, but before she could make out what it was, he became aware of her gaze and turned away slightly, tucking the object carefully into his pack. She frowned, and then dismissed it with a shrug. Whatever it was, it was his business, not hers.

Leliana rejoined them, now dressed in well-made leather armour. She carried a small pack, and a sturdy looking bow was slung across her back, along with an ornately stitched but empty quiver. Alessa raised her eyebrows at that, but Leliana just smiled disarmingly, and shrugged. "I am a fair shot – but I fear I have no arrows."

Fortunately, the merchant was happy to fix that, and Leliana handed over some coin of her own for a supply of arrows, after studying the fletching on them and proclaiming them adequate. Once again, Alessa found herself wondering just what this girl's story was.

Morrigan scowled at them as they approached the qunari's cage. "You return at last."

"Aw, did you miss us?" Alistair asked in a too-innocent tone. Dane barked enthusiastically, and Alistair grinned at the war hound.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "I certainly did not miss _you_," she replied.

Alistair put a hand to his heart and feigned a wounded expression, then subsided sheepishly when he caught Alessa's exasperated look. Shaking her head, Alessa walked up to the cage.

"You wish something more of me?" Sten asked warily.

"I have the key to open your cage," Alessa said, holding it up.

Sten's face twitched slightly – in surprise, Alessa assumed. "I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it."

"She agreed to release you into our custody," Alessa told him.

The qunari nodded sombrely. "So be it. Set me free, and I will follow you against the Blight."

Alessa turned the key in the lock, and the cage door swung open with a rusty squeak. Sten took a deep breath, and stepped forward, out of the cage. "It is done," he said. "I shall follow you into battle. In doing so, I shall find my atonement."

"I hope you do, Sten," Alessa said quietly, handing him his armour.

The qunari looked at her with a faint expression of unease, as if he did not know how to respond to a simple kindness. He silently strapped on the armour, glowering at Alistair's offer of assistance. When he was armoured, Alessa held out the sword. He looked at the weapon for a moment with a stolid indifference before taking it. "May we proceed?" he said finally. "I am eager to be elsewhere."

Alessa looked at Alistair. "To Redcliffe, then?" He smiled faintly, and nodded.

They made their way out of the village, towards the Imperial Highway. But before they reached it, a rag-tag group of men – refugees, by their attire – gathered in their path. All five of them carried weapons – one bore a sword, while the others had knives or axes.

"I don't like the looks of this," Alistair murmured to Alessa.

"Nor I," she agreed. She stopped, and Alistair moved to her side, protectively. The others halted behind them.

One of the refugees – the one with the sword – took a step forward. "I was in the tavern," he said, almost apologetically. "I done heard what was said. You-you're Wardens." He drew himself up a little straighter, and added in a firmer tone. "I don't know if you killed King Cailan – and, Maker forgive me, I don't care – but that bounty on your head could feed a lot of hungry bellies."

"Don't be a fool, man!" Alistair said urgently. "Your families won't thank you for throwing your lives away! You really think you can best the five of us?"

Dane whined in protest at Alistair's failure to include him in the count.

The refugee clenched his jaw, and Alessa saw the despair in his eyes. "We must!" he cried, and raised his sword. "Attack!"

He was answered by yells from behind them as well as in front, and glancing around Alessa saw that more refugees had closed in behind them.

"Defend yourselves!" Alessa cried, "but don't kill them!" She and Alistair leapt forward to meet the frontal attack. She heard Sten growl something unintelligible under his breath as he turned to face the attackers coming from behind.

The fight was short, and bloodier than Alessa had wished. The refugees were driven half-mad with hunger and fear, and they attacked with a desperate frenzy. Alistair and Alessa knocked down or disabled those they could, but despite Alessa's admonition not to kill, when the fight ended two of the refugees lay dead – one by her own sword. Four more lay wounded or unconscious, and the rest fled in terror, finally realising they were out of their depth.

Alistair put a steadying hand on Alessa's shoulder, and she realised she was shaking as she looked at the corpse of the man she had killed. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard, forcing it back down.

"He left you no choice," Alistair said softly.

"I know," she whispered, unconsciously leaning into the comforting touch. "But I should have found a way..." She shook her head. "Darkspawn are one thing, but... These were just men." She shuddered. "I've... I've killed before. I killed some of Howe's men when they attacked our castle – I had to. But back then... I was angry, I was _scared_, and I wanted _revenge_, for Oriana and Oren. I didn't even really think about it." She swallowed again, and gestured at the body before her. "But this? He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a killer, or a thief. He wasn't a bad man. He was just trying to survive."

"Good men can still make bad choices," he said sombrely. "I learnt that a long time ago." His voice was heavy, and she looked at him in surprise, but he looked away and didn't elaborate. "Let's get moving," he added tersely, dropping his hand to his side. He strode ahead without waiting for a response.

Alessa stared at him for a moment, frowning, and then hurried after him. She caught up to him as they approached the stone ramp leading up to the Imperial Highway.

"Alistair? Is something wrong?"

He slowed his pace and sighed heavily. "No. I... I just want to get on our way. I need to know what's happening in Redcliffe, and..." He glanced over his shoulder at the village behind them. "I'm beginning to think Lothering is bringing us nothing but bad luck and bad news."

Alessa smiled encouragingly. "And two new allies, let's not forget that." She glanced at Leliana, who beamed at her, and Sten, whose expression gave nothing away at all.

_Maker, I hope I made the right decision in bringing them both along._

She looked back at Alistair, who was frowning slightly at her, as if he saw through her cheerful smile to the doubts below. She bumped her shoulder against his. "Come on then. Let's pick up the pace and see if we can't leave the bad luck behind us."


	10. On the Road

**On the Road**

They set a steady pace, heading west towards Redcliffe. At first they kept to the Imperial Highway, but despite the convenience that afforded, Alessa quickly decided it would be unwise to travel so openly. Her bold message for Loghain was unlikely to deter him from sending more soldiers to seek them out, and their party was hardly inconspicuous. Any merchant or refugee they met on the Highway would mark their passing, and it would not be difficult to infer their destination. Alistair concurred with her reasoning, and so they set off cross-country, taking a roughly parallel course to the Highway.

By necessity, this slowed their progress somewhat, but it served its purpose; they saw no other travellers that might later remember them.

To their surprise, they encountered no darkspawn, either. By late afternoon, the walk was becoming dull, and Alessa grew restless, almost wishing for an attack simply to break the monotony.

Apparently she was not alone in her desire for some excitement. Breaking the silence she'd held since they left Lothering, Morrigan abruptly asked, "So I take it you did not enjoy your templar training?"

_I take it back,_ Alessa thought, groaning inwardly. _Monotony is good._

Alistair scowled at her. "That's directed at me, I take it?"

Morrigan smiled sweetly. "Do you see any others about who have failed at their religious instruction?"

Alessa opened her mouth to scold the mage, and then thought better of it. Alistair and Morrigan were going to have to learn to settle their differences, and her interference would only hamper that.

Alistair sighed heavily. "I didn't _fail_. I was recruited into the Grey Wardens."

"And if you had not been recruited?" Morrigan asked. "What would have happened, instead?"

"I would have turned into a drooling lunatic," Alistair said in a bored monotone, "slaughtered the Grand Cleric and run through the streets of Denerim in my small clothes, I guess."

Alessa failed dismally to smother a snort of laughter at that image, and Alistair gave her an impish grin.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Your self-awareness does you credit."

"I thought you'd like that," Alistair commented dryly, his grin fading as suddenly as it had appeared.

Morrigan seemed about to add something further, but Leliana suddenly piped up. "I'm wondering, Morrigan – do you believe in the Maker?"

"Certainly not!" Morrigan replied scathingly. "I've no primitive fear of the moon, such that I must place my faith in tales so that I may sleep at night."

Alessa rolled her eyes. Was she going to have these two bickering now, as well?

"But this can't all be an accident," Leliana ploughed on serenely, undeterred by Morrigan's scorn. "Spirits, magic, all these wondrous things around us both dark and light. You know these things exist."

"The fact of their existence does not presuppose an intelligent design by some absentee father-figure," Morrigan replied irritably.

"So it is all random, then?" Leliana raised her eyebrows. "A happy coincidence that we are all here?"

Morrigan sighed. "Attempting to impose order over chaos is futile," she said with the exaggerated patience of one trying to explain something obvious to a fool. "Nature is, by its very nature, chaotic."

"I don't believe that," Leliana said firmly. "I believe we have a purpose. All of us."

"Yours, apparently, being to bother me," Morrigan said in an annoyed tone.

Alistair snorted in amusement, and then turned it into a cough as he caught Alessa's frown. Leliana subsided into hurt silence, and Morrigan pointedly ignored Alessa's glare, lapsing into silence herself.

There was little in the way of idle conversation after that.

As the sun approached the horizon, they were lucky enough to come upon a good-sized glade in the woods, with plenty of room for their tents, and a stream nearby. Alessa called a halt, and they set up camp. For a while there was a great bustle of activity, with everyone taking a share of the work. Alessa fetched firewood and began building up a fire while Alistair and Sten set up the tents. Leliana slipped into the woods with her bow in search of small game, with Dane eagerly following at her heels. Morrigan refused point-blank to share a tent, and started building her own odd little wooden shelter out of fallen branches and leaves at the very edge of the clearing. Alessa frowned at that, but she could hardly force the woman to sleep under canvas if she didn't wish to. She did task the apostate with fetching water, however, which Morrigan did, albeit with very bad grace.

Alistair volunteered to take the first watch, but Alessa knew he had to be just as exhausted as she was. She proposed Leliana for the duty instead, justifying the choice by saying that, of all of them, Leliana had probably slept most recently. Although true, it wasn't her only reason; she wasn't sure she entirely trusted Morrigan to watch over the group, and – at least until she knew him better – trusting all their lives to Sten was definitely out of the question.

Leliana readily agreed, and Alistair insisted that she should wake him for the second watch, to allow Alessa to sleep as long as possible. Too weary to argue, Alessa nodded.

She sat down a short distance from the now blazing camp fire to rest for a moment, and stretched out her aching legs. She had always been fit – all the hours of training her swordplay had seen to that – but the walk from Lothering, coming so soon after their long trek through the Korcari Wilds from Flemeth's hut, had worked muscles Alessa hadn't known she had.

She yawned suddenly, and gave Alistair a rueful grin when he smiled over at her. Yawning again, she lay back and rested her head in her hands, looking up at the darkening sky. She really was tired.

_I'll just rest my eyes for a minute, and then I'll be fine_.

oOo

With no sensation of time passing, she became aware of an image flashing before her eyes. She was flying over a great chasm. Far below her, a river of fire wound slowly past, and closer to her, a massive stone bridge stretched across the chasm, with tiny figures moving on it. A scream pierced her, seeming to travel out from inside, and it was not a human sound. The sound overwhelmed her, and a bright white light flashed before her eyes, blinding her momentarily.

When it passed, the scene had changed; she was looking up instead of down, at the same bridge or another, she couldn't tell, and on the bridge, stretching out its enormous wings and shrieking – a sound that Alessa could barely hear, and yet somehow felt she should comprehend – was a dragon.

As she reeled from the shock of that, another piled in on top; she was surrounded by darkspawn. Appalled, she tried to move, to run, but she seemed rooted to the spot.

Another flash of white, and the dragon loomed in close, but not because it had moved; suddenly, she seemed to be suspended in mid-air next to it, seeing it close up as it screamed and breathed fire. No, not just seeing – she could _feel_ the heat from its scorching breath. It seemed enraged, full of dark fury that its shrieks didn't even begin to express. It turned its head towards her and opened its mouth again, ready to spew its flames, and Alessa knew she would be engulfed.

She awoke with a gasp, sweating and shivering. Putting her hand to her head, she sat up, dislodging the blanket that someone had tucked around her; the experience had left her shaken, and she hugged her knees tight to her body, trying to regain some measure of calm. Dane stirred beside her and made a snuffling sound, but didn't wake.

"Bad dreams, huh?" a soft voice spoke, and she looked up to see Alistair sitting across the fire from her, regarding her with sympathy. She glanced around, but saw no-one else; it was dark, and from the nearest of the two tents, she heard a soft, delicate snore that could only be Leliana.

How long had she slept? Through the entirety of Leliana's watch, at the very least.

"You could say that," she responded quietly, trying to control the shakiness in her voice. She shuddered. "It seemed so real..."

"Well, it _is_ real," Alistair said. "Sort of." He looked into the fire. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to _hear_ the darkspawn. That's what your dream was – _hearing_ them." He looked back at her, and she could see a trace of uneasiness in his eyes. "The archdemon, it... _talks_... to the horde – and we feel it, just as they do." He swallowed. "That's why we know this is really a Blight."

Alessa looked at him a moment in stunned silence, trying to process what he'd told her. "The archdemon?" she whispered, finally. "That was the dragon, right?"

"I don't know if it's really a dragon," Alistair said, "but it sure looks like one. But yes – _that's_ the archdemon." He paused for a moment. "It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out – although you can never block them completely during a Blight." He hesitated, studying her, and added, "Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't." He shook his head. "Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you." He sounded suddenly unbearably sad, as if he'd have given anything not to have to be telling her, but then his tone lightened a little as he added, "It was scary at first for me too."

Alessa nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Alistair. Really. I appreciate it."

He grinned suddenly, banishing the sadness from his eyes. "That's what I'm here for! To deliver unpleasant news, and witty one-liners."

Alessa stared into the fire for a moment, and said quietly, "I'm glad you're here. I... I don't know if I could cope with all this if it was just me."

Alistair cleared his throat, and she looked at him. He was looking away from her; he seemed uncomfortable. "Well, I'm glad I'm here, too," he joked, but his levity seemed forced. He shrugged. "We have to look out for each other, right? Now that it's just the two of us." He glanced at the tents, and then his gaze flicked towards Morrigan's makeshift shelter. "Well, I mean, not _just_ the two of us, of course, but..." He trailed off awkwardly.

"I know what you mean," Alessa said softly. "We're the Grey Wardens, not them. It's our responsibility."

"Yes..." he mumbled, looking down at his feet. "That's what I meant." He took a breath, and looked up at her. "You should go back to sleep. I've got this watch covered, and I'm not tired anyway."

Alessa shivered, thinking of the dream that wasn't entirely a dream. "I... don't think I could sleep any more tonight." She shivered again. "I'm not sure I'll ever sleep again."

Alistair nodded in understanding. "Well, eat something at least." He gestured towards a pot sitting next to the fire. "Leliana made some kind of stew; probably best you don't ask what's in it." He grimaced. "And it's likely cold by now. It's perfectly edible, though," he assured her with a wink as she took the lid off the pot and eyed the contents dubiously.

Despite Alistair's less than hearty recommendation, Alessa's stomach growled; she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. Sighing, she spooned some of the stew into a bowl, and fell to eating it. To her surprise, it was far tastier than she'd expected. She wolfed it down, and then refilled the bowl.

After she'd finished the stew, Alessa sat in thought for a moment, then she looked across at Alistair. "Can we talk? About the Grey Wardens? I feel like there's so much I don't know."

He nodded, then glanced around at the tents again. "Let's not wake the others with our talking," he murmured, and, gesturing for Alessa to follow him, he walked away from the fire and stopped at the far edge of the clearing from Morrigan's lean-to.

"So," he said, "what do you want to know about the Grey Wardens? I doubt I know much more than you, but I'll tell you what I can."

Alessa thought for a moment. "I guess... what I really want to know is, what now? I mean, are we absolutely certain that it's just two of us? Could there be others that weren't at Ostagar? Is there somewhere they would rally?"

Alistair shook his head sadly. "I knew every Grey Warden in Ferelden. There weren't that many of us, after all." He sighed heavily. "They were all at Ostagar... all in the battle, with Duncan." He was quiet for a moment, and Alessa didn't push him. "I imagine that, eventually, the Grey Wardens outside of Ferelden will wonder what's happened," Alistair said finally. "Why there's no contact from Duncan, or someone. I suppose they'll send someone eventually." His eyes narrowed, and he added with a trace of bitterness, "Though who knows what Loghain's people in Denerim will tell them." He shook his head despondently. "Or maybe they won't send anyone," he said bleakly. "Maybe they'll just write Ferelden off, and concentrate on preparing to fight the Blight in their own lands."

Alessa frowned. Was that possible? Would Grey Wardens in other lands simply leave them to their fate? She tried to consider how things might appear to those outside Ferelden. With no word from the Ferelden Wardens, would it really be so unreasonable for them assume that the Blight ran unchecked here?

"Shouldn't we try to contact them, then?" she asked urgently. "Let them know they're needed here?"

Alistair shook his head. "That would mean leaving Ferelden. There's plenty of Grey Wardens in Orlais, but I'm not sure where they might be found – and the nearest Orlesian city is weeks away. Or we could go north, and across the sea – there's bound to be some in the Free Marches. Again, however, I just don't know where. And even if we did manage to find them, they couldn't come back with us in time to stop the Blight." He shrugged. "So that means, whatever happens, it's up to us."

"Isn't there a headquarters somewhere?" Alessa asked.

"Here in Ferelden, there's our compound in Denerim, at the palace – but that's it. Loghain will have control over that, and be watching it, no doubt." He sighed. "Beyond that, the only place I know of is Weisshaupt Fortress. That's the headquarters of all Grey Wardens, in the Anderfels, a thousand miles from here. But I've no idea how to even contact them."

"Can we recruit other Wardens? Start rebuilding the order?" Alessa asked. It seemed a daunting prospect – but no more so than carrying on alone did.

"I guess, in the future," Alistair nodded. "I mean, eventually we would need to use the Joining to make more Grey Wardens, right?" He smiled sadly. "But I don't know how to do the Joining – or what's involved. I know it involves lyrium," he added, "and some other magic, and that it's really difficult to prepare, but.." He shrugged apologetically. "That's it. Unless we can find out more about the Joining, I guess we'd better get used to the idea that there's only the two of us, for now."

Alessa nodded, deep in thought. Talk of the Joining had sparked a curiosity in her. "So, how did you become a Grey Warden?"

"Same way you did," grinned Alistair. "You drink some blood, you choke on it and pass out. You haven't forgotten already, have you?"

"Ha ha, very funny," said Alessa sardonically.

His grin broadened. "I do my best." He chuckled. "What can I say?"

Alessa crossed her arms and waited.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Let's see, I was in the Chantry before. I trained for many years to become a templar, in fact. That's where I learnt most of my skills."

Alessa nodded. "Yes, you told me that before." She grinned. "Although I find it hard to imagine you fitting in there; you really don't seem the religious type."

Alistair laughed. "You're telling me! I was banished to the kitchen to scour the pots more times than I can count. And that's a lot – I can count pretty high." He turned more serious, frowning at some memory. "It's odd, though – the Grand Cleric didn't want to let me go. Duncan was forced to conscript me, actually, and was she ever furious when he did. I thought she was going to have us both arrested."

"Why didn't the Grand Cleric want you to be a Warden?"

"I wondered that myself," Alistair confessed. "It's not as if she valued me highly," he added, with a trace of bitterness. "I think she just didn't want to give anything to the Grey Wardens, is all." He grinned wryly. "The Chantry didn't lose much, and I think I can do more good fighting the Blight than sitting in a temple somewhere." His expression became introspective. "I'll always be thankful to Duncan for recruiting me." His face fell. "If it hadn't been for him, you know... I would never..." He swallowed. "I wouldn't have..."

Instinctively Alessa reached out to touch his arm. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I didn't think... I shouldn't have brought the subject up." She let her hand fall, and met his eyes steadily. "He was a good man."

Alistair nodded slightly. "He was." He blinked, and Alessa pretended not to notice the moonlight glinting on his unshed tears. "A good man who didn't deserve his fate. That much I'm sure of." There was an edge of steel in his voice at the end, and Alessa wasn't sure it was an improvement.

Alistair fell silent and stared off into the woods. Alessa watched him for a moment, wondering if she ought to leave him to his thoughts. But she couldn't be sure when she would next get the chance to talk to him privately, and there was one more thing she wanted to know. "Can I ask you something?" she said tentatively.

He looked at her warily. "Ask away."

"You said that Arl Eamon raised you?" she ventured, taking a chance. He hadn't said anything of the sort, of course – only that he'd been raised in Castle Redcliffe. But that, combined with the odd familiarity with which he spoke of the arl...

"Did I say that?" he said uncomfortably, his voice a little higher than usual, and Alessa knew she'd hit close to the mark. "I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs, from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact." He smiled uneasily.

"Oh?" Alessa said, her tone gently mocking him. "Giant dogs. Right. And they came all the way from the Anderfels just to raise you?"

"Well, they were flying dogs, you see," Alistair invented wildly. "Surprisingly strict parents, too, and devout Andrastians, to boot."

"Uh-huh," Alessa nodded. "Giant, flying, devout dogs."

He smiled nervously. "Or did I dream all of that? Funny, the dreams you'll have when you sleep on the cold, hard ground, isn't it?" He forced a chuckle. "Are you having strange dreams?"

"Like, say, an archdemon trying to engulf me in flames, you mean?" Alessa countered, a little more irritably than she'd intended.

"Hmm, point taken," he said sheepishly. He took a deep breath. "Let's see, how do I explain this? I'm a bastard," he said in a rush, "and before you make any smart comments, I mean the _fatherless_ kind," he added belligerently.

_I wasn't going to make any smart comments._ Alessa opened her mouth to speak her protest aloud, but Alistair was already continuing with his story. Having started, he seemed eager to get the telling of it over.

"My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle, who died when I was very young," he was saying. "Arl Eamon wasn't my father, but he took me in anyhow. Put a roof over my head. He was good to me." He smiled slightly, remembering, and Alessa was touched by the fondness in his voice. "And he didn't have to be. I respect the man, and I don't blame him any more for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."

"But you blamed him then?"

"I was young, and resentful, and _not_ very pious," Alistair admitted. "Of course I blamed him. I remember screaming at him like a little child." He paused in thought, and added, "Well, I _was_ a child, so I doubt he was surprised." He took a breath, and continued, "Arl Eamon had married a young woman from Orlais. Which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king, because it was so soon after the war. But... he loved her." He sighed. "Anyhow," he carried on, "the new arlessa resented the rumours which pegged me as his bastard. They weren't _true_, but of course they existed. The arl didn't care," he shrugged, "but _she_ did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well," he added, with an indifference he clearly didn't feel. "The arlessa had made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She _despised_ me."

"Oh, Alistair," she breathed, appalled by the woman's callousness. "That's an _awful_ thing to do to a child."

"Maybe," Alistair said with a slight shrug. "She felt threatened by my presence – I can see that now. I can't say I blame her. She wondered if the rumours were true herself, I bet."

Alessa shook her head, knowing she would never be so understanding in Alistair's place. The man must have a truly kind heart, to forgive something like that.

"I remember, I had an amulet," Alistair mused, almost to himself, "with Andraste's holy symbol on it. The only thing I had of my mother's. I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall, and it shattered." A dark cloud of regret settled on his brow. "Stupid, _stupid_ thing to do." He paused for a moment in thought. "The arl came by the monastery a few times, to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there, and blamed him for everything. And eventually, he just... stopped coming."

"Are you _sure_ he isn't your father?" Alessa asked, wondering why the arl would take such an interest in someone who wasn't his blood.

"Yes, I'm quite sure," Alistair replied firmly. "And I wasn't raised as the arl's son, if you're picturing _that_. I slept in hay out in the stables, not on silk sheets. At any rate, I don't look anything like him. You'll see that for yourself. Not that it stopped the rumours, any." He sighed. "All I know is that the arl is a good man, and well loved by the people. He also was King Cailan's uncle, so he has a personal motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did. Anyway," he concluded, "that's really all there is to the story." He looked away, and Alessa sensed that he'd shared all he was going to, for the moment at least.

"Thank you," she said, quietly.

He looked at her in surprise. "For what?"

Alessa shrugged. "For trusting me with your life story. I know I had no right to ask, really; it's not as if we've known each other long—"

"It's fine," he interrupted, looking suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced up at the sky. "It's nearly dawn," he commented offhandedly.

Alessa followed his gaze, startled. "Already?" He wasn't mistaken; the sky was definitely getting lighter. She gaped at Alistair. "Maker's breath, how long was I asleep?"

He grinned at her, and the awkwardness vanished. "Well, you dozed off before it got dark, and it's almost day now, so..." She groaned, and he chuckled.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she scowled. "I was supposed to take the third watch." She frowned at him. "Did you stand two watches? You needed your sleep too."

He shrugged. "I slept earlier, and I wasn't tired." He smiled fondly at her. "And you looked so peaceful, lying there. Well, until you started dreaming, anyway. I didn't have the heart to wake you." He grinned. "We actually debated moving the tent around you, but I thought someone might trample on you in the process. Probably me."

Alessa chuckled, and then sighed, remembering that she was trying to make a point. He made it very hard to be angry at him. "That's very sweet, Alistair... but please, don't do it again." She smiled to take the sting out of her words. "While I appreciate the thought, remember that we're a team. It does me no good to be alert and rested if you're asleep on your feet." She gave him a friendly nudge. "Who's going to protect my flank then?"

He nodded sheepishly, and returned the smile. "You're right, of course." He grinned. "But don't worry, I'll keep a close eye on your flank." She arched her eyebrows at that, and he reddened. "Uh... that didn't come out right."

She chuckled. "See? You need more sleep!"

He rolled his eyes, still smiling. "All right, fine, you win. No more all night watches for Alistair."

"Good." She sighed, her good mood fading as swiftly as it had come. "Because I think we're both going to need all our wits about us if we're to deal with the darkspawn _and_ stay one step ahead of Loghain."

He nodded sombrely. "I suppose we are, at that."

They were quiet for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, until a movement from the camp caught their attention. Sten was emerging from the second tent.

Alistair leaned towards Alessa, and said in a low, conspiratorial, voice, "You know, sharing a tent with him, I was actually kind of glad to be on watch."

Alessa grinned. "Not a great conversationalist, I'm betting."

He chuckled. "I'll say!" He sighed. "I trust your judgement, you know that. But... I don't know if I'm comfortable having him around."

"Give him a chance, Alistair. He's only been with us for a few hours."

"Yes, I know." He took a breath, and exhaled it slowly. "Well, since he's up I suppose we should make a start on packing up the camp."

Alessa nodded, and they strolled back towards the camp fire. Dane raised his head at their approach and barked eagerly before Alessa could shush him. At least that would probably save her the trouble of waking anyone else, Alessa mused. Sure enough, moments later Leliana poked her head out of the tent, and smiled at Alessa. "Good morning," she called out cheerfully, and then ducked back inside.

Alessa glanced round the camp. Alistair was collecting the pots from last night, while Sten was silently taking down the second tent. Leliana was presumably dressing, which left only Morrigan. She started towards the apostate's shelter.

"Argh!" Alistair suddenly yelped from behind her. Startled, Alessa whirled, expecting some kind of attack. Instead Alistair was backing away from a growling Dane, nursing his arm. "Why you little..."

"What happened?" Alessa demanded.

"Your furry friend here took offence at me getting near his food. He snapped at me, look!" Alistair held his hand out for inspection – he'd taken his gauntlets off to collect the dishes, and there were indeed teeth marks on it, oozing traces of blood. It was hardly the life-threatening injury she'd expected from Alistair's yelp, though.

"It's barely a scratch," she said calmly. "He was just warning you – you've seen what he can do when he's serious." Alistair pouted slightly, and she added, "Still, he shouldn't have." She frowned at the mabari. "That wasn't nice, Dane. You're not to bite Alistair. Save it for the darkspawn."

Dane whined apologetically and hung his head.

Alistair looked a little sheepish himself. "Sometimes I forget that he's a war dog. That'll teach me."

"Yes, it will," Alessa agreed. Alistair looked at her in surprise, and she chuckled. After a moment, he laughed with her, and Dane joined in with a friendly bark.

Morrigan chose that moment to stroll into the clearing from the woods. Alessa looked round, feeling slightly relieved that she wasn't going to have to wake her after all. "Ah, you're up."

Morrigan sniffed disdainfully. "_I_ have been awake for some time. Some herbs are best collected at night." She patted a small pouch at her side. "'Twill save you coin on poultices if I can supplement our supplies."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Morrigan," Alessa said, feeling a little guilty at the surprise she felt. "Thank you."

The apostate shrugged carelessly. "Twas nothing." She looked round. "Are you not yet ready to leave? I thought Alistair was eager to reach Redcliffe." She centred her gaze on the former templar. "Although why you feel such concern for the man who cast you out as a child is a mystery to me."

Alistair's face darkened in sudden fury. "You... you were _listening_? That was a _private_ conversation, you—"

Alessa caught his arm to get his attention and shook her head, before he could say something to make matters worse, and he broke off, spluttering.

Morrigan gave him a thin smile. "Voices carry at night, and you were not so quiet as you believed." She narrowed her eyes. "You would do well to remember that in future, lest you draw predators or other enemies into our midst."

Muttering darkly under his breath, Alistair collected up the pots and bowls and headed towards the stream, glaring at Morrigan as he passed her.

Alessa frowned at Morrigan, but said nothing. If she could be sure the woman had been deliberately eavesdropping... but she had no way to know that, and she could hardly chastise the apostate for something she might have accidentally overheard.

She sighed, wondering if Morrigan was going to prove to be more trouble than she was worth. Perhaps she should try harder to engage the apostate in conversation; if she could get to know Morrigan better, even befriend her, maybe the woman's acrimony would mellow. But, thus far, Morrigan had rebuffed all such attempts.

oOo

It took longer than Alessa would have hoped, but eventually they had everything packed away and were once more on their way westward.

As they walked, Alessa glanced at Morrigan, and was struck by the way the apostate seemed to walk apart from the rest of the group. Feeling a little guilty, Alessa headed towards other woman, but before she could say anything, Morrigan sensed her approach and cast a haughty look in her direction before deliberately quickening her pace to draw further ahead.

Stung, Alessa turned her attention forward with a sigh.

A moment later, she became aware of Leliana drawing close. "It is a shame," the redhead remarked softly, nodding towards Morrigan. "She is lonely, but she does not know how to let anyone in."

Alessa looked at the redhead, surprised by the apparent empathy in her voice; she would not have thought the two women in any way similar. Leliana beamed at her. "You should persevere, I think. Everyone needs someone to talk to, whether they know it or not."

Alessa couldn't help a small smile coming to her face; Leliana's good mood was infectious. "Does that include you?"

Leliana chuckled. "Me? Oh, I love to talk! What would you like to talk about?"

Alessa looked at the other woman thoughtfully for a moment. So many questions came to mind about the redhead's past, but where to start? "Well, I must admit I'm curious about this vision of yours."

Leliana nodded, smiling a little ruefully. "I knew this would come up sooner or later." She sighed. "I don't know how to explain... but I had a dream. In it, there was an impenetrable darkness... it was so dense, so real. And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise. I stood on the peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything. And when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I... I fell. And the darkness drew me in." She hesitated, looking expectantly at Alessa.

"Go on," Alessa said neutrally. It sounded like just a regular dream to her, but then – hadn't she just had a dream that was more than it seemed, herself?

"When I woke," Leliana said, "I went to the chantry's gardens, as I always do. But that day, the rose bush in the corner had flowered." Seeing Alessa's sceptical expression, she hurriedly added, "Everyone knew that bush was dead! It was grey, and twisted, and gnarled... the ugliest thing you ever saw. But there it was – a single, beautiful rose. It was as though the Maker stretched out his hand to say, 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.'"

"And this made you want to help me?" Alessa asked in puzzlement. Somehow, given Leliana's conviction, she'd expected the 'vision' to be something a little less... vague.

"In my dream, I fell," Leliana said, trying to explain, "or... maybe I jumped." She looked at Alessa earnestly. "I'd do anything to stop the Blight. I know that we can do it. There are so many good things in the Maker's world. How can I sit by while the Blight devours _everything_?"

Alessa nodded. That at least she could understand. "I suppose... I couldn't sit by either," she said.

Leliana nodded and smiled. "That is why you are a Grey Warden."

Alessa smiled back, but her smile faded a moment later when Alistair stopped abruptly, holding up a hand for them to halt. "Darkspawn," he murmured as Alessa moved to his side. "Close." He made a vague gesture to the left of their path.

Alessa looked in the direction he indicated, seeing and hearing nothing unusual. A momentary frustration at being unable to feel whatever he was sensing overtook her. Just how long would it take for the whole darkspawn-detection thing to kick in, anyway? Shaking her head, she quickly shed her pack and drew her weapons, following Alistair's example.

Moments later they all heard the sounds of several large creatures crashing through the trees. Two genlocks burst out of the woods to their left, snarling and grunting. They were closely followed by a pair of hurlocks.

Thanks to Alistair's warning, everyone was ready for the attack. Alistair and Alessa leapt to meet the genlocks, while Sten intercepted one of the hurlocks. The remaining hurlock tried to flank Alessa, but before it could raise its weapon, it became rooted to the spot, apparently shaking in terror. Alessa spared a quick glance to the side, to see Morrigan smirking in satisfaction. She nodded to the apostate, who was already preparing another spell, and turned her full attention to the genlock in front of her.

Alistair had knocked his opponent down with a fierce bash of his shield, and as Alessa ducked under the attacking genlock's wild swing and rolled neatly to her feet behind it, she saw his sword plunging into the creature's heart. She kicked hard at the back of the genlock's knee before it could turn to follow her, leaving it off-balance, and then thrust her own blade into its back. Alistair spun, his sword whirling, and sliced deeply into the genlock's throat. Dark blood sprayed out, and it fell to the ground, gurgling and twitching in its death throes.

As one, they turned towards the hurlock Morrigan had incapacitated, but it had already been felled; Alessa noted an arrow sprouting from its throat, and another squarely between its eyes. She chuckled quietly to herself; 'a fair shot' apparently didn't tell the half of it.

Sten gave a mighty roar behind them, and Alessa whirled just in time to see him impale the remaining hurlock with his sword. He pulled the weapon free, and then threw it aside with a look of disgust. "This is a child's blade." Alessa raised her eyebrows as he bent down and freed the hurlock's big two-handed blade from its dead fingers and held it up, assessing it. The weapon was ugly; the blade was made of a dull, dark material and its edges were jagged, appearing almost like wicked teeth all along it. It looked heavy, but Sten lifted it as if it weighed nothing. He nodded once. "This will do."

The battle was over, and they had hardly broken a sweat. Alessa glanced round at her companions, looking for injuries, but saw none. She smiled grimly at Alistair, feeling jubilant at their easy victory, and relieved that the addition of Leliana and Sten to their party had, after all, proved to be a sound choice.

There were no further interruptions, and at length Castle Redcliffe and its surrounding village came into view.

As they neared Redcliffe, Alessa noticed that Alistair seemed to grow increasingly anxious. Finally he stopped, and turned to her. "Look," he said, "can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something. I... ah... should probably have told you earlier." His face was a mask of apprehension, and he was fidgeting with his gauntlets.

Alessa turned to the others. "Wait here for us." She nodded to Alistair and followed him as he led her away from their companions. He didn't stop until they were well out of earshot.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" she guessed.

He looked down at his feet. "I... don't know. I doubt it." He looked up and met her eyes; his were anxious. "I've never liked it, that's for sure."

"Alistair, what is it?" Alessa asked, his disquiet rubbing off on her. She'd never seen him this anxious.

He swallowed. "I told you last night how Arl Eamon raised me, that my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?" He made it sound like a question, so she nodded. "The reason he did that," he continued, "was because... well..." He was speaking slowly now, as if each word was being dragged out against his will. "Because... my father... was King Maric."

Alessa gaped at him for a moment in disbelief, too shocked to say anything.

"Which made Cailan my... well... half-brother, I suppose," he finished lamely, avoiding meeting her eyes.

"You... you're Maric's..." Alessa trailed off, her mind reeling. Emotions warred within her, and anger won. "You don't think you might have told me this before?"

Alistair winced, and she suddenly had the feeling that her reaction was exactly what he'd been expecting... and dreading. "How?" he asked. "When would I say that? 'Ooh! By the way, King Maric had sex with a servant and she produced a bastard son. That's me!'" He shrugged helplessly, his eyes full of sadness and shame. "I _would_ have told you, but... it never really meant anything to me." His voice took on a bitter note. "I was _inconvenient – _apossible threat to Cailan's rule, and so they kept me secret." He shook his head and stared off into space. "I'd never talked about it to anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me for it, or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it." He clenched his fists, then slowly unclenched them and met her eyes again. "I didn't want you to know as long as possible." He paused, and his eyes pleaded with her for something, but she wasn't sure what. "I'm sorry," he added quietly.

"I suppose I understand," she said slowly, and he looked relieved. She shook her head. "But still, you should have told me." She felt oddly disappointed that he hadn't, after all, trusted her enough to tell her his life story – at least not the whole of it.

Her disappointment must have shown somehow, because his face fell. "You're right," he said quietly. "I should have." He clenched his jaw. "It's brought me nothing but problems, to be honest," he said bitterly. He cleared his throat. "At any rate, that's it," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "That's what I wanted to tell you. I... thought you should know about it."

"So, why _did_ you tell me?" she demanded. "If you didn't want me to know, what's changed?"

He sighed and gestured towards Redcliffe. "Because it will probably come up. I didn't want to walk into Redcliffe without you knowing the truth. That would be just... awkward."

An uneasy silence fell between them, and Alessa broke it hesitantly. "So, with Cailain gone, I suppose this makes you heir to the throne."

Alistair instantly shook his head. "No!" he said resolutely. "I have _no_ illusions about my status. It's always been made _very_ clear to me that I'm a commoner, and now a Grey Warden, and in _no_ way in line for the throne. And that's _fine_ by me," he added hastily and emphatically. "No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he _is_ Cailan's uncle. And more importantly, very popular with the people." He paused in thought, his expression growing troubled. "Though... if he's really as sick as we've heard..." He looked down in distress. "Oh, no, I don't want to think about that." He glanced upwards for the briefest of moments, as if offering up a silent prayer. "I really don't," he said quietly. He took a breath, and said, more loudly, "So there you have it. Now, can we move on? And I'll just pretend you still think I'm some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

Alessa stared at him in shock. "That's not really what you think, is it?"

"No, I suppose not." He looked past her, staring at nothing. "I don't feel very lucky at all, to be honest," he said bleakly, and suddenly spun round, walking away from her, back towards the others.

"Alistair!" she called after him, "Alistair, that's not..." He didn't break his stride; either he was too lost in his own thoughts to hear, or simply choosing not to. "...what I meant," she finished quietly, somehow needing to say the words even though he couldn't hear them. "I never thought you were a nobody." 

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A/N: Thank you once again to everyone who is reading this story, especially those who have reviewed, alerted or favourited it. You make it all worthwhile. And a special thanks to Abydos Jackson, who helped me immensely with this chapter.


	11. A Village Under Siege

**A Village Under Siege**

As they followed the road into Redcliffe, they saw a man armed with a bow standing in the middle of a stone bridge ahead of them. When he saw them approaching, he came forward eagerly to meet them. "I thought I saw travellers coming down the road," he said with an air of relief, "though I scarcely believed it. Have you come to help us?"

"Help you?" Alessa asked in alarm, exchanging a confused look with Alistair. "What do you mean? Help you with what?"

The man's face fell. "So... so you don't know?" he responded in distress. "Has nobody out there heard?"

"Heard what?" Alistair demanded. "What are you talking about, man?"

"We've heard Arl Eamon is ill," Alessa added. "Is that what you mean?"

The villager shook his head in despair. "He could be dead for all we know!" he cried. "Nobody's heard from the castle in days!"

"What?" Alistair exclaimed. "Why?"

"We're under attack," the man replied despondently. "Monsters come out of the castle every night, and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting... and dying."

"Apparently, everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other," Morrigan commented sardonically. "Marvellous, really."

Alistair turned on her angrily, but before he could say anything, Alessa snapped, "Stop it, both of you." She turned back to the villager. "Tell us everything."

"We've no army to defend us," the man said hopelessly. "No arl, and no king to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are... are terrified that they're next!" His voice rose hysterically.

Alessa ground her teeth in exasperation, and took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm. "Defend you from _what_? You said monsters – do you mean darkspawn?"

"I... I d-don't rightly know," the man stammered. "I'm sorry, nobody does." He shook his head. "I should take you to Bann Teagan, he'll want to see y—"

"Bann Teagan?" interrupted Alistair. "He's here?"

"Yes," the villager replied, seizing with relief on something he could answer. "He's all that's holding us together. He's in the chantry – it's not far, if you'll come with me?"

Alessa gave him a curt nod, and they followed as the man led them hurriedly into the village.

"I'm surprised to find Bann Teagan here," Alistair said quietly to Alessa. "He spends most of his time in either Denerim or Rainesfere. But it's good that he's here – he's a good man, like his brother."

Alessa. nodded absently, her attention caught by the small band of men practising with swords, axes and bows in the middle of the village. Few of them seemed at ease with their weapons, and most looked scared.

"Please, my lady," the villager said, and Alessa realised he was standing at the open door of the village's chantry, waiting for her. She hurriedly followed him inside, with Alistair close behind her and the others bringing up the rear.

The chantry was uncommonly busy. There were people everywhere; some resting on makeshift bedrolls, some being tended for wounds, others standing around listlessly, or talking anxiously with their friends. Most were women and children; and many of the younger children were weeping. Some of the adults were, too.

At the end of the chantry hall a man in his middle years, dressed in fine clothes that marked him as a noble, was talking to an elderly man who nodded and walked off as they approached. Despite the lines of worry on his handsome face, Alessa recognised the nobleman as he turned to greet them: Bann Teagan, the arl's younger brother.

"It's... Tomas, yes?" he asked the villager, who nodded. His voice was calm and soothing. "And who are these people with you? They are obviously not simple travellers." His keen gaze travelled over Alessa's group, noting their armour and weapons.

"No, my lord," Tomas said. "They just arrived, and I thought you would want to see them."

"Well done, Tomas," the bann said, and Tomas smiled slightly. The bann turned to Alistair and Alessa, who were at the forefront of their group. "Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl."

"I remember you, Bann Teagan," Alistair said, stepping forward, "though, the last time we met, I was a lot younger, and, uh... covered in mud." He looked embarrassed.

"Covered in mud?" Teagan asked, frowning. Then his expression cleared. "Alistair?" He smiled; a wide, genuine smile. "It is you, isn't it? You're alive! This is wonderful news!"

"Still alive, yes," Alistair replied. "Though not for long, if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it."

"Indeed," Teagan said. "Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things."

The note of derision in the bann's voice caught Alessa's attention. "Not all, no," she said, and gave the bann a quizzical look. "You don't believe Loghain's version of events?"

"What, that he pulled his men in order to save them?" Teagan asked scornfully. "That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory?" He scoffed. "Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors – murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is the act of a desperate man." He studied Alessa. "So, you are a Grey Warden as well?"

"I am, my lord," Alessa confirmed.

"We two are all that's left in Ferelden, as far as we know," Alistair added.

"Is it possible we've met?" Teagan asked Alessa, frowning. "You seem very familiar."

"We have met, my lord," Alessa said quietly, "though I too was younger then. My name is Alessa Cousland."

His eyes widened slightly, and she saw him reassessing her. "Forgive me, my lady," he said "You have changed much since our last meeting, and not merely in your attire." He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "I barely recognise the gawky young girl you were then in the woman before me now. It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady – though I wish it were under better circumstances. How are Bryce and Eleanor?"

Alessa swallowed, and Teagan glanced round, frowning, at Alistair's sharp intake of breath. "They died," she said stiffly, "when Highever fell to Arl Howe's treachery." She wondered if it would ever get easier to utter those words.

"What?" gasped the bann. "This cannot be... Oh, these are dark times, indeed. My lady, I am truly sorry for your loss." He grimaced. "First Loghain, now Howe... evil plagues us at every turn." He shook his head. "And my own brother... Eamon is gravely ill. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts."

"Tomas mentioned monsters," Alistair said.

Teagan nodded. "The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil... _things_... surging from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault." He suddenly looked and sounded desperately weary, and Alessa saw in his grey eyes that he felt the loss of every man that had fallen.

"What do you mean, evil things?" Alessa asked.

"Some call them the walking dead," the bann replied. "Decomposing corpses, coming to life with a hunger for human flesh. They continue to attack even with the gravest injuries."

Alessa shared a look of shocked disbelief with Alistair, while Morrigan merely looked thoughtful. "Undead – spirits possessing the dead," the apostate mused aloud. "There could be several causes behind such a thing, none of them pleasant."

"They hit again the next night," the bann continued. "Each night they come, with greater numbers." He shook his head despairingly. "With Cailan dead, and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one responds to my urgent calls for help." He glanced around, and lowered his voice to ensure none of the villagers in the chantry could hear him. "I have a feeling that tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Alistair – I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends."

"It... isn't just up to me," Alistair said, looking at Alessa with a silent plea in his eyes.

"Of course we'll help," she assured him, and he smiled gratefully.

"How pointless," Morrigan muttered, "to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere..."

"Thank you," Teagan said in relief, giving no sign that he'd heard Morrigan. "This means more to me than you can guess. Tomas," he added, turning to the villager, "please tell Murdock what's transpired, then return to your post."

"Yes, my lord," Tomas bowed his head and departed.

"Now then," Teagan said to Alessa and Alistair. "There is much to do before night falls. I put two men in charge of the defence: Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the chantry, while Ser Perth, one of Arl Eamon's knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. You may wish to discuss with them the preparations for the coming battle."

"You have some of Arl Eamon's knights here, then?" Alistair asked.

"I have those few who returned from their quest," the bann replied grimly.

"The search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Alessa asked.

Teagan nodded. "You know of it, then. Yes, I... question Isolde's decision to send so many knights in search of this... relic. But I am a practical man, whereas she is a woman of great faith."

"We will speak to Ser Perth, and Murdock," Alessa told the bann, "and find out what we can do to help. Will you be here in the chantry, should we need to find you?"

Teagan nodded. "Ser Perth insists. He wants me to be with the villagers, so everyone he needs to protect is in one place." Alessa nodded – she would have done the same. "I don't mind, to be honest," the bann continued. "The point of all this is to protect the villagers, and I can do that best here. This is the last line of defence, should things go amiss, and the monsters find their way in. I would prefer not to fight in the chantry – but if they come, so must it be."

"We will not let it come to that, my lord," Alessa assured him.

The bann smiled thinly at her. "Please, my lady – given the circumstances, let us not be formal. It is simply Teagan."

She nodded. "Teagan, then. But only if you call me Alessa."

His smile became more genuine for a moment. "As you wish – Alessa."

They exited the chantry, and Alessa looked round for the mayor. Beyond the militia men practising their archery and swordplay outside the chantry, she spied a man with dark red hair and an impressive moustache, watching those who were training. On a hunch, she walked towards him. Alistair followed.

The red-haired man noticed their approach and turned to face them, crossing his arms and favouring them both with an appraising stare. ""So you're the Grey Wardens, are you?" he said in a gruff voice. "I didn't think they made women Grey Wardens," he added, making it sound almost like a challenge.

"And yet, here I am," Alessa answered, unfazed. "The darkspawn threaten everyone, men and women alike. And my blade kills them as easily as does Alistair's."

"If you hadn't noticed, there aren't darkspawn around these parts," the man commented. "Not yet, anyway." He studied Alessa for a moment. "We aren't going to turn aside anyone who wants to help, though – don't take me for being an ingrate or nothing."

"Well, we do want to help, however we can," Alistair assured him. "You can trust us."

The red-haired man nodded, apparently satisfied. "Name's Murdock. Mayor of what's left of the village. Providing we aren't all killed and hauled off to the castle tonight."

Alessa frowned. "I trust you don't let your men hear you talk that way. We will fight this evil together, and we _will_ prevail."

Murdock looked a little chastened. "I hope you're right. I've been trying to hold us together, but it isn't easy." He drew himself up. "Anyway, you're here, and Tomas tells me you're in charge."

_Why do people keep putting me in charge of things?_ Alessa wondered. _First Alistair, now Bann Teagan_. _I'm nobody special._ Her eyes narrowed and she cast a dark glance at Alistair._ I'm not the one with royal blood in my veins._

Following that train of thought was going to take her nowhere good, she realised. Pushing it away, she faced the mayor. "What can we do to help?"

"We need what little armour and weapons we got repaired," Murdock said, frowning, "and quickly, or half of us will be fighting without either." He shook his head in frustration. "Owen's the only blacksmith who can do it, but the stubborn fool refuses to even talk. If we're to be ready for tonight, we'll need that crotchety bastard's help."

"Why does Owen refuse to talk to you?" asked Alessa.

"His daughter, Valena, is one of the arlessa's maids," the mayor explained. "He hasn't heard from her since this whole business started. He demanded that we attack the castle, break down the gate, and force our way in." He rolled his eyes. "I told him it was impossible, but he wouldn't listen. He's locked himself in the smithy, now." Murdock sighed. "I can't _force_ him to do repairs. He said he'd rather die, first."

Alessa nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

And so it went for the rest of the day; walking from one end of the village to the other and back again, just talking to people. They spoke to the blacksmith, who agreed to repair the militia's arms and armour in return for Alessa's promise that they would look for his daughter if they were able to get into the castle. They carried messages, and found some lamp oil in a deserted store that Ser Perth assured them he could put to good use, having been previously unaware of its existence. They convinced reluctant participants to add their effort to the militia's defence, including a dwarven trader called Dwyn and his mercenary guards, and Lloyd, the sleazy tavern keep.

The visit to the tavern proved especially interesting; in addition to enlisting Lloyd, they found an elf named Berwick there, a stranger in the village, who displayed such nervousness at their group's arrival that Alessa questioned him closely. After a few unsuccessful attempts to convince them he had just happened to be in the village when the troubles began, he finally confessed to having been hired to watch the castle, by someone claiming to work for Rendon Howe.

Alessa's eyes narrowed at the mention of that name; she drew her dagger and pointed it at the elf's throat, demanding to know what had caused the attacks. Terrified, the elf swore that he knew no more than anyone else in the village; he had been sent to keep watch, and report any changes in the castle, but nothing else. With shaking hands, he produced an unsigned letter that bore out his story.

Grimly, Alessa told the elf she would keep his secret if he agreed to make amends by joining the village's militia and helping to fight off the undead that night. Berwick hastily agreed, apparently believing she might slit his throat if he did not.

She wondered briefly whether she ought to tell Bann Teagan of this new development, but decided against it. Whatever Howe's involvement in the events here, they had more immediate concerns, and the bann was already worried enough. But if Howe proved to be behind any of this... She set her jaw grimly.

Morrigan grumbled incessantly about the endless errands, apparently considering such things beneath them. Sten frowned a lot, although he kept his thoughts to himself. Even Alistair eventually began to question the wisdom of expending their energy on what often amounted to carrying messages to and fro. Only Leliana's good humour seemed undiminished, as she enthusiastically recounted tales of legendary battles fought and won against seemingly insurmountable odds. Alessa couldn't decide which was worse – Morrigan's griping or Leliana's annoyingly high spirits. Both pulled at her fraying nerves, sending her into a grumpy silence that rivalled Sten's, which she supposed was better than snapping at her companions. Alistair she ignored almost completely, and he in turn became withdrawn, carrying a slightly wounded expression on his face.

She ignored that, too.

Privately, Alessa sympathised with Alistair's viewpoint; she, too, would rather be doing something more tangible. But she recognised what the others did not seem to; everyone they spoke to was seeing for themselves that they had Grey Wardens to aid them in the coming battle, and that raised their spirits, giving them hope that they might, after all, survive the night.

That hope was their greatest ally, and Alessa did her best to foster it at every opportunity.

As the day wore on, Alessa noticed that Alistair grew increasingly restless. Finally, late in the afternoon, he cornered her away from the others. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Apart from the fact that we're preparing to go into battle against the walking dead?" she asked sarcastically.

"That's not what I mean," he said firmly, "and you know it. You've been in a bad mood all day, and it's not because of the situation here. I've seen you in battle, remember – you've faced darkspawn, and I know you're not afraid of a few undead!" He sighed heavily. "If there's something wrong, I wish you'd just tell me." He looked at her sadly. "I thought you trusted me."

"Maker's breath, Alistair!" she snapped. "This is hardly the time."

"Alessa, please," he began, reaching out his hand towards her. She stepped back, and he let his hand fall, his hurt showing clearly in his eyes.

"You want to talk about trust?" she cried suddenly, unable to keep it bottled up any longer. "Fine! Let's talk about trust." Eyes blazing, she took a step towards him, and he flinched slightly in the face of her sudden fury. "Why did you keep your birthright a secret from me?" she demanded, in a low, angry voice.

He eyed her warily. "You... never asked?"

She glared at him. "I'm in no mood for games, Alistair."

Alistair winced, and sighed heavily. "All right," he said quietly. "If you want the full explanation, I'll give it to you." He looked up at the castle. "The thing is, I'm used to not telling anyone who didn't already know. It was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew." He looked back at Alessa, his eyes pleading for understanding. "And then, after the battle, when I _should_ have told you..." He sighed again. "I don't know. It seemed like it was too late by then. How do you just tell someone that?"

Alessa shook her head. "And when we were talking about your childhood last night? Maker's blood, Alistair, I even asked if the arl was your father! You could have told me then – _should_ have told me then, but you didn't."

He lowered his gaze. "Yes, well... I suppose part of me kind of liked you _not_ knowing."

"Why?" she demanded, and the hurt in her own voice surprised them both. "Don't you trust me?"

"What? No!" he said vehemently. "It's not that, not at all! Of course I trust you! It's just..." He sighed. "Anyone who's ever found out has treated me differently afterwards. I was the bastard prince instead of just being Alistair." He shrugged slightly. "I know that must sound stupid to you," he added quietly, "but I hate that it's shaped my entire life. I never wanted it, and I _certainly_ don't want to be king. The very idea of it terrifies me."

He seemed so despondent that Alessa found she couldn't remain angry at him. "It doesn't sound _entirely_ stupid, I suppose," she allowed.

He stared up at the castle again. "My blood seems certain to haunt me no matter what I do," he muttered bitterly. He set his jaw. "I guess I should be thankful that Arl Eamon is far more likely to inherit the throne." Worry clouded his eyes. "If he's all right. Oh, I hope he's all right."

"We'll do everything we can to make sure of it," Alessa said reassuringly.

Alistair met her gaze. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner," he said sincerely. "I... I guess I was just hoping that you would like me for who I am." He looked down at his feet. "It was a dumb thing to do."

"Don't worry about it, Alistair," she said quietly. "There's no real harm done. And... I'm sorry too. I... overreacted."

He looked up at her hopefully, and she gave him a hesitant smile. Some of the tension seemed to flow out of him. "I guess it's kind of a relief that you know now," he said, with a breeziness that seemed slightly forced. He glanced up at the sky, which was beginning to darken. "It's nearly dusk. We'd better go."

They gathered their companions and made their way to the windmill above the village, to take their stand with Ser Perth and the few knights that had returned from their quest for Andraste's ashes.

oOo

Anxiously, they waited as the sun dropped to the horizon, and then below it, eyeing the path that led down from the castle. Night fell, leaving the village lit only by the moonlight and strategically placed torches, and tensions mounted.

Just as Alessa was starting to wonder if all their preparations had been for nought, Leliana cried out a warning, pointing towards the castle. Alessa followed her gaze, to see a haze of dust, kicked up by rushing feet, rising from the path leading down from the castle.

Shouts drifted up from the militia below. "They're coming!" "Get to your positions!" "Make ready!"

"It's time, men," said Ser Perth steadfastly. "Know that we fight for the Maker, and our arl." The knights drew their swords, and Alessa followed suit, exchanging a grim look with Alistair. The bann had talked about increasing numbers, and about this night being the worst yet, but she hadn't envisaged quite so many. If the dust cloud they were kicking up was any indication, there was a small _army_ of undead approaching.

Figures appeared at the crest of the hill before them. For a moment they stood there silently, and then the first of them began to run down the hill towards the barricades.

Ser Perth nodded to the archer beside him, who fired a single flaming arrow into the middle of the barricades. The arrow set light to the lamp oil and the end of the path lit up in a giant fire trap.

Some of the walking corpses never emerged from the fire trap; fire, it seemed, was a powerful weapon against them. Those that did stagger out of the flames were met with cold steel as Ser Perth, the knights, Alessa and Alistair moved forward in a line.

Alessa found herself unsettled by the eerie silence that met their attacks. There were no shrieks, no groans, no curses or grunts of pain; the creatures made no sounds beyond an occasional guttural croak or hiss, and even in death they simply stopped moving and hit the ground. It made the whole thing seem utterly surreal, and were it not for the battle cries of the knights around her, and Alistair's encouraging shouts, she might have believed it all a dream.

The worst thing was the ones that still looked like the people they had once been. Clearly dead, with pale, rotting skin and gaping sores and wounds, but still people. Alessa's stomach churned at the sight, and she made certain to put those down first.

The undead proved resilient, shrugging off wounds that would have felled a living person. But they were not invulnerable; a sword through the heart or the head brought them down as surely as it would any other foe. Decapitation proved effective, as well, as Sten demonstrated several times with his vicious darkspawn blade. Morrigan blasted them with fire spells, and flaming arrows streaked from Leliana's bow. One by one, the monstrous creatures fell.

Finally, a lull came during which no more of the animated corpses appeared, and they fell back, grateful for the opportunity to catch their breath.

It was a brief respite. One of the militia came racing up the hill towards the mill. "The monsters are attacking from the lake!" he cried. "They're attacking the barricades! We need help!"

Alistair swore colourfully under his breath, and Alessa bit back a desire to do the same. "Knights!" she called out instead. "Stay here and guard the path! The rest of you, with me!" She ran down to meet the militia man, then followed him back down into the village. Alistair quickly caught her up and ran by her side, with the others following close behind.

They found the militia crowded together in the area in front of the chantry, with the undead creatures attacking them from two sides. The militia were fighting back bravely, but they were being overwhelmed.

"For the Grey Wardens!" Alistair cried, charging into the fray. Alessa echoed his battle cry and followed hot on his heels.

The walking corpses did not react to their attack; they seemed to be mindless things, capable only of one thing; attacking what was in their path. Their only true advantage was in numbers, and Alessa's companions were quickly able to even up the odds. One by one, the creatures were dispatched; heartened by the reprieve, the militia fought back with renewed vigour.

The attacks began to blur into one for Alessa. Periodically throughout the night more waves of the undead things would appear, and each time they were fought off. During the lulls between attacks, the bodies were dragged off to a pyre at the edge of the village, where they were burnt to ensure that whatever dark magic had caused them to rise from the dead in the first place could no longer impel them.

Despite the best efforts of Alessa's group, many were wounded during the attacks, and some of the militia fell to the monsters – but when dawn finally rose, the majority of the militia had survived the night, and the villagers in the chantry remained safe.

Wearied but triumphant, knights and militia alike gathered in front of the chantry, where Bann Teagan addressed them. "Dawn arrives, my friends, and most of us remain. We are victorious! And it is these good folk you see beside me," he added, gesturing towards Alessa and Alistair, "that we have to thank for our lives today." He turned to them and smiled. "I bow to your heroism, my friends. The Maker smiled on us when he sent you here in our darkest hour."

"We did no more than anyone else," Alessa murmured, embarrassed by the bann's praise, but Teagan was not listening.

"With the Maker's favour," Teagan continued, turning back to the crowd, "the blow we delivered today is enough for me to enter the castle and seek out your arl. Be wary and watch for signs of renewed attack," he cautioned them. "We shall return with news as soon as we are able." He turned to Alessa and Alistair once more. "Follow me to the mill," he said quietly. "We can talk further there."

oOo

Alessa joined Bann Teagan by the mill and followed his gaze towards the castle. It was well situated, she mused. Sitting atop high, steep bluffs, with the end of Lake Calenhad in between the castle and the village, the castle's only obvious point of access was by means of a sturdy stone bridge across the lake. The bridge lead directly up to the main castle gates, and any approach from that direction would be immediately obvious to the castle's occupants.

"Odd, how quiet the castle looks from here," Teagan said absently. "You'd think there was nobody inside at all." He turned to Alessa. "But I shouldn't delay things further. I had a plan... to enter the castle after the village was secure."

"How do you plan to gain entry?" Alessa asked, her eyes still on the castle. "Is the portcullis not down?"

The bann smiled thinly. "There is a secret passage, here in the mill, accessible only to my family."

Alessa whipped her gaze towards him, frowning. "And you didn't mention this before?"

"I feared you would choose to enter the castle instead of staying in the village," Teagan said apologetically. "And we needed warriors. I'm sorry if I—" He broke off abruptly, staring wide-eyed past Alessa. "Maker's breath!"

Alessa whirled to see what had alarmed the bann. An attractive noblewoman was running down the path from the castle, a guardsman following her. Alistair drew in a startled breath.

"Teagan!" the woman cried. Her voice had a subtle but noticeable Orlesian accent, and she gave the name an odd emphasis, stretching the vowels out in a way that grated on Alessa's ears. "Thank the Maker you yet live!"

Alessa had only met the woman once before, and she had been far more composed then; but her features and her voice were unmistakeable, as was her manner. Even in a state of clear distress, the arlessa managed to give off an air of haughty superiority.

"Isolde!" gasped the bann. Alessa glanced at Alistair, whose expression was a mixture of surprise and extreme discomfort. "You're alive!" Teagan continued incredulously. "How did you...? What has happened?"

"I do not have much time to explain," the arlessa said heavily, shaking her head. "I slipped away from the castle when I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly." She lowered her gaze momentarily. "And I... need you to return with me, Teagan." She hesitated, and then added, "Alone."

"Alone?" Alessa frowned. "That seems... unwise. Why don't we all go?"

"What?" Isolde said, looking at Alessa as if noticing her for the first time. "I..." She seemed suddenly gripped by a fear bordering on panic. "Who is this woman, Teagan?" she demanded.

Before either the bann or Alessa could answer her, Alistair stepped forward with a heavy sigh. "You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?" he asked reluctantly.

The arlessa turned her gaze to him, and her eyes widened in recognition. "Alistair." She huffed in disbelief and displeasure. "Of all the..." Her eyes narrowed. "Why are _you_ here?"

"They are Grey Wardens, Isolde," Teagan interjected. "And I owe them my life."

Isolde looked at Alessa. "Pardon me," she murmured in apology, studiously ignoring Alistair. "I... I would exchange pleasantries, but... considering the circumstances..."

"Please, Lady Isolde," Alistair implored, forcing the arlessa to acknowledge his presence, "we had no idea whether anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers!"

Isolde turned from him and addressed herself to Teagan instead. "I know you need more of an explanation, but I... I don't know what is safe to tell."

Alessa fumed inwardly at the arlessa's treatment of Alistair. Was it not enough that she had made his life a misery as a child? She clenched her jaw, but said nothing; there were more important matters at stake.

"Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle," Isolde continued. "The dead waken and... and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues. And I think..." She gazed past the bann at the castle, an odd expression on her face. "I think Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death!" Her words were heavy with concern and despair, and that much, at least, Alessa could sympathise with. Unbidden, the memory of her nephew's body lying on the floor of her brother's chambers floated across her mind, and she vowed silently that she would not allow the arl's young son to meet the same fate.

"You must help him, Teagan!" Isolde pleaded. "You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do!"

"What about Arl Eamon?" Alistair interjected anxiously. "Is he still alive?"

Isolde turned, her antipathy toward him softening slightly at the clear concern in his voice. "He is," she confirmed hesitantly. "He is being... kept alive so far, thank the Maker."

"Kept alive?" Teagan echoed, frowning. "Kept alive by what?"

Isolde returned her attention to the bann. "Something the mage unleashed," she said fearfully. "So far, it allows Eamon, Connor and myself to live. The others... were not so fortunate." She trembled. "It's killed so many," she continued, grief and terror in her voice, "and turned their bodies into walking nightmares! Once it was done with the castle, it struck the village!" She gave a helpless shrug. "It wants us to live, but... I do not know why! It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help."

"This mage you mentioned," Alessa said. "How did he come to be in your castle?"

"He is an... infiltrator, I think," Isolde answered hesitantly, and Alessa frowned. The arlessa suddenly seemed almost guarded. "One of the castle's staff. We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill."

"Eamon was poisoned?" Teagan asked in horror.

Isolde nodded. "He claims an agent of Teyrn Loghain's hired him. He may be lying however; I cannot say." Her eyes darted uneasily between Teagan and Alessa, meeting neither's gaze squarely, and a disquieting feeling came over Alessa. The woman's distress seemed genuine enough, but she was displaying too much caution for someone in her situation.

Alessa glanced at the guardsman standing behind Isolde, but he was ignoring them all, staring at the castle in fear; there was no insight to be had there.

"What aren't you telling us?" Alessa asked the arlessa suspiciously.

The arlessa's eyes widened, and she huffed indignantly. "I... I beg your pardon! That's a rather impertinent accusation!"

"Not if it's true," Alistair said, his tone cold.

"An evil I cannot fathom holds my son and husband hostage!" Isolde said tearfully, her voice taking on a whining tone. "I came for help! What more do you want from me?" She turned to the bann. "Teagan, I do not have much time! What if it thinks I am betraying it? It could kill Connor! Please come back with me!" She sobbed and wrung her hands miserably. "Must I beg?"

"Why must Teagan go alone?" Alessa questioned, unable to shake the feeling that something was not right. It could be just her dislike of the woman, but... No. Isolde was holding something back, Alessa was certain of it. She hadn't even denied it.

"For Connor's sake," the arlessa told her anxiously. "I promised I would return quickly, and only with Teagan." She turned back to the bann. "Teagan, I know you could order your men to follow me when I return to the castle. I beg you not to, for Connor's sake!"

Teagan nodded his head in assent. "The king is dead, and we need my brother now more than ever. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde."

"Oh, thank the Maker!" Isolde gasped in relief. "Bless you, Teagan! Bless you!"

"What good will that do?" Alessa asked. "You can't possibly think to defeat this evil, whatever it is, by yourself?"

"I cannot let Isolde return alone," Teagan said, his tone sombre and his eyes clouded with worry. "And perhaps I can help Connor or Eamon. Perhaps this is really a trap, but this is my family. I must try." He paused, stepping towards Alessa and Alistair. "I have no illusions of dealing with this evil alone. You and your friends, on the other hand, have proven quite formidable." He turned to the arlessa. "Isolde, can you excuse us for a moment? We must confer in private before I return to the castle with you."

Isolde nodded reluctantly. "Please do not take too long. I will wait for you by the bridge." She gestured to her guard, and they walked back up the path.

Teagan watched her go, waiting until she was out of earshot before turning to Alessa and Alistair. "Here's what I propose," he said quietly. "I go in with Isolde and you enter the castle using the secret passage." He removed a ring from his finger and held it out to Alistair. "My signet ring unlocks the door." His grey eyes glinted with steely determination. "Perhaps I will... distract whatever evil is inside, and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. What do you say?"

Alessa shook her head. "You can't go in there alone, Teagan. It's insane."

Teagan's eyes narrowed. "What choice do either of us have? I can see no other way."

"He's right," Alistair agreed. "I don't like it either, but..." He shrugged.

Reluctantly, Alessa nodded.

"Ser Perth and his men can watch for danger at the castle entrance," Teagan said. "If you can open the gates from within, they can move in and help you." He paused a moment, making sure he had their attention. "Whatever you do, Eamon is the priority here. If you have to, just get him out of there. Isolde, me, and anyone else... we're expendable."

"We won't let it come to that," Alessa said determinedly. "We will save you all, I promise."

The bann smiled faintly. "You're a good woman, Alessa. The Maker smiled on me indeed when He sent you to Redcliffe." He glanced at Alistair. "Both of you." He looked up the hill, to where Isolde was waiting, wringing her hands impatiently. "I can delay no longer. Allow me to bid you farewell... and good luck." He turned and walked away without waiting for a reply. Stopping only to call over a young village boy, who he sent running down the hill with instructions for Ser Perth, he set off up the path to the castle.

"So we are just going to let him go with that woman?" Leliana asked dubiously. "It seems so dangerous!"

Alessa sighed. "What would you have me do? Forcibly detain him?" She shook her head. "I don't like it, but it's Teagan's decision." She glanced at the castle, wondering what awaited the bann – and them – within. "Still," she added, "the sooner we get in there ourselves, the better. Let's get moving."

"One fool plan on top of another," Sten muttered darkly.


	12. Castle Redcliffe

**Castle Redcliffe**

They headed into the windmill, and quickly found a trapdoor, half-hidden under a layer of straw. A rough iron ladder led down to a small, dark cellar below. Morrigan murmured something, and a small globe of fire coalesced above her outstretched hand; by its light they saw four blank walls, broken only by a wooden cabinet in one corner. Alistair and Sten pulled the cabinet to one side, revealing a sturdy door behind it which Alistair unlocked with the bann's signet ring. One by one they made their way carefully down the rough spiral stair beyond, illuminated only by the flickering glow cast by Morrigan's spell, to a passage far below.

The tunnel stretched ahead into darkness. A basket of unlit torches stood near the foot of the stairwell; Alessa took one and Morrigan, with a casual flick of her hand, used the little fireball to light it. With their way thus lit, they proceeded along the secret passage.

From its direction and depth, Alessa judged that the tunnel must have been carved out of the bedrock under Lake Calenhad itself. She marvelled at the work that had to have been involved, and wondered how long ago it had been created. The air was dank and musty, and the passage walls felt slightly damp to the touch in places, but there was no sign of any deterioration in the tunnel's walls or roof.

Still, Alessa decided she would be very glad to reach the castle. She knew Bann Teagan would have warned them had he thought the passage anything other than perfectly safe, but the thought of all that rock, earth and water above their heads made her feel decidedly uncomfortable.

Finally they came to another spiral stair at the far end of the tunnel, leading up once again. At the top, they came out into an empty stone hallway. The doorway at the end of it was once again opened with Teagan's signet ring.

Alistair drew in a sharp breath as he pushed open the door, and quietly drew his sword. Peering around him, Alessa saw that the door opened out into what appeared to be the castle dungeon. Ahead of them, at the far end of the corridor, were three of the walking corpses, and Alessa tensed, following Alistair's lead in drawing her weapons.

The creatures didn't react to the door's opening; their attention seemed to be focussed on one of the dungeon's cells. A man's voice cried out fearfully from within, "Get away from me!"

Alessa and Alistair charged as one. The undead looked round at their yells, displaying more awareness than those that had attacked the village, and headed towards them. Alessa swept ferociously at all three with her sword and dagger, and then focussed on the one in the middle, raining a flurry of blows on it. Alistair took the creature to her left, and Sten the one to her right, with Morrigan and Leliana adding their own attacks from the sides. The fight was soon over.

"Hello?" a voice asked tentatively from inside the cell. "Who's there? Is there anyone alive out there?"

Alessa walked to the cell, to see a young, dark-haired man. His face was bruised and bore several half-healed cuts, and his robe, which marked him as a mage, was dirty and torn.

Despite his dishevelled appearance, he seemed to have his full wits. "Wait," he said, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, "you don't look like the arlessa's guards." His eyes widened. "Are you from outside the castle?"

"Who are you?" Alessa asked, ignoring his question.

"My name is Jowan," the man answered. "I'm a mage Lady Isolde hired to tutor her son, Connor. Until they, ah, threw me into the dungeon here." He looked sheepish.

"For poisoning the arl," Alessa guessed.

Jowan sighed, and, with a despondent nod, admitted to the deed. In earnest tones, he assured them that he was not, however, responsible for the walking corpses, having been already imprisoned before the attacks had begun. Trembling slightly, he told them that the arlessa's guards had tortured him at Isolde's orders, trying to get him to confess to something he had not done. When they failed, they had left him in the cell to rot, he said.

"Why did you try to kill Arl Eamon?" Alistair demanded harshly.

"I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain."

Alessa exchanged an appalled look with Alistair, a sick feeling forming in her stomach. Lady Isolde had said as much, but Alessa had assumed she'd been mistaken, or that the mage had lied to her.

As angry as she was at Loghain for his actions at Ostagar, and his subsequent grab for power, she had never truly believed he had planned his betrayal. But this? If the mage was telling the truth, this had to have been premeditated, coldly put in motion before Ostagar. Perhaps long before. And if this had been planned, it followed that everything else had been, too.

_Oh, Loghain, why? Wasn't being a teyrn, a general and a hero enough for you?_

Alessa suddenly recalled Berwick's confession. The elf had mentioned Loghain, too, Alessa remembered, although she'd barely taken note of it at the time, as incensed as she'd been by the thought of Howe's involvement. "Loghain's right hand" – that was what Berwick had said, in reference to Howe.

Dear Maker, were Howe and Loghain in this _together_? _Plotting_ together?

"I was told that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden," Jowan continued, "and that if I dealt with him, Loghain would settle matters with the Circle."

"What matters with the Circle?" Alessa questioned, her eyes narrowing.

Jowan sighed. "I'm a maleficar," he admitted reluctantly. "A blood mage."

"You?" Morrigan said, sounding surprised. "A blood mage? Truly?" She shook her head. "I would never have guessed."

"A blood mage," echoed Alistair uneasily. "Well, _that_ isn't good."

"I... dabbled in the forbidden arts," Jowan explained, lowering his head guiltily, "and they condemned me to death for it." He looked up again, his expression distraught. "I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to... redeem myself." He shook his head. "But he's abandoned me here, hasn't he?" His voice rose, bordering on hysteria. "Everything's fallen apart, and I'm responsible! I have to make it right somehow, I have to!"

"You're certain it was Teyrn Loghain who hired you?" Alessa asked, needing to be sure.

Jowan nodded. "Yes. When the templars caught me, they brought me to Denerim to await execution. Eventually, someone came to see me, alone. It was the teyrn. I'd seen paintings of him, so I knew." He shivered unconsciously. "Although the paintings don't do him justice. His eyes, they pierce right through you." He stared at Alessa. "I thought he was going to have me executed right there, but he said I could make up for my crimes." His voice took on a defensive tone. "He said I would be helping the country!"

"And how exactly was the death of Ferelden's most respected arl supposed to 'help the country'?" Alistair asked, his voice dangerously low.

"He only said that Arl Eamon was dangerous to the nation." Jowan shrugged. "Why wouldn't I believe Teyrn Loghain?"

"You said Lady Isolde hired you to tutor her son," Alessa said slowly, puzzled. "Why would she hire a mage to do that?"

"Connor had started to show... signs," Jowan said hesitantly. "Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Magi would take him away for training."

"Connor? A mage?" Alistair said incredulously. "I can't believe it!"

"She sought an apostate," Jowan continued, "a mage outside the Circle, to teach her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent."

"Why would this woman want her child to hide his magic?" Morrigan asked, her tone one of complete incomprehension.

"Titles mean nothing to the Chantry when magic is involved," Alessa explained. "Even the son of a powerful arl is subject to their laws. The boy would have been taken to the Circle, and his parents might never have been able to see him again."

"The templars don't exactly encourage mages to maintain family ties," Alistair added quietly.

Morrigan snorted in open disapproval.

"Did Arl Eamon know about this?" Alessa asked Jowan.

He shook his head. "No. She was adamant that he never find out. She said that he'd do the right thing, even if it meant losing their son. And that infuriated her."

An unsettling thought suddenly struck Alessa. "Just how powerful a mage _is_ Connor, anyway? Could _he_ be summoning these... things?" From the corner of her eye she saw Alistair shoot her an appalled look.

"Not.. intentionally," Jowan answered slowly. "He's still very young, he can barely cast a minor spell – never mind something this powerful. But..." He nodded slightly to himself. "It's _possible_ Connor could have inadvertently done something to tear open the Veil." He looked slightly sickened by the idea. "With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill, and create those walking corpses."

"I see," said Alessa slowly, meeting Alistair's horrified gaze.

"I never meant for it to end like this," Jowan said sadly, "I swear. Let me help you fix this." He sounded sincere in his wish to help.

"I say this boy could be of use to us," Morrigan piped up unexpectedly. "But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner–?"

"Hey, hey!" Alistair interrupted sharply. "Let's not forget he's a blood mage! You can't just... set a blood mage free!"

"Better to slay him?" Morrigan retorted in a scathing tone. "Better to punish him for his choices? Is this Alistair who speaks? Or the _templar_?"

"He wishes to redeem himself," Leliana interjected. "Doesn't everyone deserve that chance?"

"Like yourself, you mean?" Morrigan asked, her eyes narrowing.

Alessa tuned out their bickering as she considered the mage in front of her.

"Give me a chance," Jowan begged, "please!"

"How do you intend to fix this?" Alessa asked him. "Can you subdue the demon, or whatever it is that Connor's unleashed?"

"I... I don't know. I'd..." Jowan hesitated. Apparently he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Well, I'd try to save anyone still up there. There must be something I can do."

"And afterwards?" Alessa prompted.

"Afterwards?" Jowan asked. He met Alessa's gaze sadly. "I assume I'll be arrested. Or executed. Or... whatever people like me get." He sighed. "I'm tired of running from the Circle. I need to account for what I've done."

Alessa weighed his words carefully. He seemed sincere in his desire to help, and in his acceptance of whatever punishment might be coming to him. But he was a blood mage. Could she possibly trust him?

She glanced round at her companions, who were now watching her expectantly. Surely they could deal with one mage, if it came to that. And his knowledge could prove invaluable in dealing with whatever Fade creature might be in control of the castle. She sighed, and turned to Jowan. "I'm letting you out of your cell. Don't make me regret it." She looked round and spied a ring of keys hanging from a hook on the wall further down the corridor.

"You're letting me out?" Joawn echoed in surprise. "And what then?"

"You come with us, and help us retake the castle," Alessa replied over her shoulder as she fetched the keys.

"I'm... not sure that's a good idea," he said hesitantly, suddenly torn between his good intentions and his fears. "I'd like to help out, but I'm not so sure I want to follow you into danger, exactly."

Alessa arched her brows. "Would you rather stay here and wait for more of those walking corpses to come for you?"

"No..." he admitted, and then sighed. "All right. I'll come with you."

"And help," Alessa repeated sternly.

"I will, I promise," Jowan assured her.

Alessa nodded, and unlocked his cell door. The door swung open with a rusty squeal, and Jowan nervously walked out.

Leliana and Morrigan both looked pleased by Alessa's decision. Alistair did not, but he said nothing. Sten's expression was, of course, unreadable.

They made their way cautiously out of the dungeon, up to the main floor. It soon became apparent that small bands of the walking dead were scattered throughout the castle, but none posed any significant threat to Alessa's group – until they reached the kennels.

"Maker's blood!" Alistair swore as five rotting, snarling Mabari hounds hurled themselves at the group. Humans were not the only things being turned into undead monsters, it seemed.

One undead hound leapt at Alessa's throat, and she just barely got her sword up in time to impale it as it jumped towards her, while she sliced at its throat with her dagger. The creature died with a rattling whimper, but its momentum carried it forward into Alessa, and its weight tumbled her backwards. Her head cracked hard against the stone wall behind her, and she slid to the floor, dazed, barely aware of the battle continuing around her. Just before her eyes closed, she dimly made out Alistair's figure standing over her, fiercely fighting to keep the hounds at bay.

oOo

"Alessa?"

The voice softly prodded at her, and she opened her eyes with a groan. A pair of strong arms enfolded her, lifting her into a sitting position. "Alessa?" Alistair repeated, his tawny eyes filled with concern. "Maker's breath, I feared you were…" He broke off, studying her closely. "Say something."

"Ow," Alessa obliged, raising a hand to her head. "I'm all right," she assured him, although the throbbing in her head said otherwise. "Help me up."

Shaking his head, he did so. "You're a hard-headed woman," he commented. "In more ways than one."

"Mmm," she agreed dizzily. "Hardly even need the helm." She glanced around, taking in the unmoving corpses of the hounds. "I see you managed all right without me." She focussed on Alistair and gave him a weak grin. "I'm fine. We need to keep moving."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue, other than to insist on taking point alone for a while.

Shortly after, as they checked side-rooms to ensure they would not be ambushed by any undead hiding within, they found a young girl hiding instead. She shrieked as they entered, cowering away in fear. "Please don't hurt me!"

"Calm down," Alessa said gently. "No one's going to hurt you."

The girl looked up, trembling. "I... I'm sorry. I was so frightened... those monsters are everywhere!" She drew herself up a little straighter. "My... my name's Valena – I'm the arlessa's maid. Is she... all right?"

"She's fine," Alessa answered soothingly, hoping fervently it was still the case. "You're Owen's daughter, aren't you? Your father's been worried about you."

"You know my father?" Valena asked. "Oh, I want to go back to the village! Is there a way out of here?"

Alessa thought quickly. The passage they'd used to reach the castle wasn't an option – Teagan's signet ring would be needed to re-open those doors, and she couldn't in good conscience hand that out to just anyone. They could take the girl with them, but if she panicked when they encountered the next group of undead, she could put herself, and perhaps all of them, in a great deal of danger.

"It's best you stay put, for now," she said firmly. "Keep quiet, and wait until someone comes back for you. I'll send someone to take you back to your father as soon as the castle is secure."

The girl trembled, but nodded faintly. "A-all right. But please hurry," she begged. "I don't want to stay here a minute longer!"

Alessa frowned in thought, and then smiled. "Dane can stay here with you. You'll make sure she's safe, won't you, boy?" she added to the mabari, who barked enthusiastically. "There you go," she told Valena. "He'll keep you company and make sure nothing hurts you."

"Oh, thank you!" the girl cried, and threw her arms around Alessa. Then she knelt down and hugged the mabari, who bore the attention admirably, his stubby tail wagging from side to side.

Promising the girl that they would return for her soon, Alessa closed the door, and led the others onwards.

Dealing with two more groups of walking dead on the way, they finally made their way out to the courtyard of the castle, but as they started to cross towards the gates, Leliana caught Alessa's arm and pointed up at the parapet running above them, on either side of the main entrance. "Archers," she breathed.

Alessa looked where Leliana was pointing, and saw the bows raised just above the stone wall. The archers themselves were hidden by their angle of view, and the shadows cast by the castle itself.

"The arl's men?" murmured Alistair hopefully, but Alessa could tell from the tone of his voice he didn't believe it.

Leliana shook her head; her keen eyes were narrowly focussed on the closest bow. "Look at the hands holding the bows," she said in a low voice.

Alessa followed her gaze, and saw what the other woman had seen; those bony fingers did not belong to anyone living.

"Skeletons," Alistair said drolly. "Well, at least it's something new."

Alessa rolled her eyes, and motioned everyone to follow her. Hugging the wall, she led them to base of the parapet, immediately below the archers. "Wait here," she whispered.

"What are you...? Alessa!" Alistair hissed, but she made a reassuring gesture behind her, and then stepped out into sunlight. Ducking down to pick up a large pebble from the ground, she hurled it at the nearest archer, and then ducked back into the shadows.

As she'd hoped, the skeletal archers ran along the parapet and down the stone steps, looking for the source of the projectile. As they rounded the corner of the steps, Alessa and Alistair met them with swords drawn, and any advantage the archers might have had at range was lost.

At first, Alessa was at a loss to know how to fight them. How could you inflict a mortal injury on something with no flesh or organs? They soon found, however, that the right bone knocked out of its proper position acted much like a flesh wound would. Kick away a shin bone, and the skeleton would lurch forward, unsupported by its leg. Knock a bone out of the spine, and the skeleton would collapse to the ground in a heap.

Crushing their skulls proved particularly effective; once they discovered this, Alistair took grim delight in pounding his shield into their heads. Sten was also adept at cleaving their skulls in two, or simply parting the skulls from their bodies, with his sword.

As the last skeleton dropped into the growing pile of bones around them, Alistair turned to Alessa, frowning. "You take too many risks," he said severely. "I have the shield, and the heavier armour – you should have let me draw their fire."

Alessa shrugged and grinned at him. "It worked, didn't it?"

Alistair rolled his eyes and shook his head in mock despair; but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile he couldn't quite hide.

Their triumph was short lived, however; the quiet of the courtyard was broken by a savage, unearthly hiss, and suddenly a new creature rounded the base of the steps. Shaped like a man, but as tall as Sten, it was clad in dark armour and bore a sword and a massive shield; its eyes glowed red from deep within its helmet. When it saw them it shrieked – a sound that chilled Alessa to the bone – and bore down on them.

Cursing, Alistair brought his shield up to deflect the thing's initial strike, and Alessa dove under its sword arm to deliver a well-aimed flurry of blows from her sword and dagger. Sten appeared behind it, and Alessa and Alistair stepped back out of range of his vicious two-handed sword. The creature shrieked again, but the sound was cut short by Morrigan's spell, which froze the thing in mid-strike. Sten's sword stroke hit, and the force of his blow took the creature's head clean off. The frost on its armour melted away, and it collapsed to the ground.

"What in the Maker's name _was _that?" Alessa gasped, breathing hard.

"'Twas a revenant," Morrigan informed them smugly. "Unlike the other walking corpses we have seen, 'twas not simply animated by a spell; rather, 'tis possessed by a minor demon."

Alessa looked at the apostate hopefully. "A demon? Then this was what was behind all the attacks?"

Morrigan shook her head. "Unlikely. Revenants are strong, yes, but not usually capable of controlling other undead, particularly in such numbers as we have seen. 'Tis more likely that the revenant itself was being controlled by something else."

Alessa nodded resignedly. She should have known it couldn't be _that_ easy.

Morrigan frowned in thought. "Revenants are tricky creatures to control. 'Twould take something far more powerful... and nearby."

"So this demon, or whatever it is, has greater control over the things in close proximity?" That would explain the increased awareness of the walking corpses in the castle, Alessa thought.

"Indeed."

"Wonderful," Alessa sighed, wondering what new horrors might be awaiting them in the main part of the castle. "Well, good to know, I suppose." She sheathed her weapons. "Can we open the damned gates, now?"

oOo

As the bann had promised, Ser Perth was waiting outside the gate with his knights; at the sight of Alessa and her companions, the worry on their faces turned to relief. Alistair and Sten raised and secured the portcullis, and Ser Perth led his men forward, clasping Alessa's arm respectfully.

Alessa quickly briefed the knights on what they had found thus far within the castle, although she was deliberately vague about Jowan's presence. Ser Perth seemed a good man, but he was understandably anxious about the arl, and that might cloud his judgement where the mage was concerned.

Ser Perth gestured for Alessa and Alistair to take the lead, and the knights fell in behind them as they made their way up the steps to the main castle entrance, and through the entry hall. Sten, Morrigan and Leliana followed the knights, with Jowan nervously bringing up the rear.

As they entered the main hall, Alessa's step faltered, and she slowed to a halt, stunned by the bizarre tableau in front of her. Lady Isolde stood on the dais at the end of the room, a number of guards behind her. Her head was lowered in despair. Next to her stood a young boy who, in contrast, was clapping his hands and laughing in delight.

The source of his amusement was Bann Teagan, who was dancing and tumbling in front of the dais like a court jester.

"Maker's blood..." muttered Alistair.

The bann finished his dance with a flourish and returned to the dais, seating himself on the edge of it with a vacant grin. Alessa marshalled her resolve and marched forward towards the dais; after a moment the others followed her.

The young boy frowned at Alessa, his eyes narrowed. "So these are our visitors?" he asked. His voice had an otherworldly timbre, as if it was not the boy talking at all, but something else entirely. "The ones you told me about, Mother?"

Isolde looked at him fearfully, and then dropped her gaze to her feet again. "Y-yes, Connor," she stammered.

"And they defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?"

"Yes."

Connor pointed angrily at Alessa. "And now it's staring at me! What is it, Mother? I can't see it well enough."

The arlessa followed his gesture, looking at Alessa apologetically. "This... this is a woman, Connor," she told the boy. "Just as I am..."

"You lie!" Connor cried. "This woman is nothing at all like you! Why, just look at her!" His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "Half your age, and pretty, too." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm surprised you don't order her executed in a fit of jealousy!"

Isolde took a step towards her son. "Connor," she pleaded tearfully, "I beg you, don't hurt anyone!"

The boy put a hand to his head, looking suddenly confused and frightened. "M-mother?" he asked, and his voice sounded like that of a normal child. A very _scared_ child. "What... what's happening? Where am I?" He buried his face in his hands.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" Isolde cried, falling to her knees and holding out her hands towards him. "Connor! Connor, can you hear me?"

The boy lifted his head from his hands and turned towards her, sneering. "Get away from me, fool woman!" The demonic voice had returned. "You are beginning to bore me."

The arlessa staggered back, sobbing, and Alessa instinctively took a step forward, her hands near the hilts of her weapons.

"Please don't hurt my son!" Isolde begged, seeing her movement. "He is not responsible for what he does! It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon – he started all this! He summoned this demon!"

Alessa glanced back at Jowan, to find him standing at the back of the hall, behind the knights. He looked horrified, and when he caught her glance, he shook his head in panic, silently denying the arlessa's claim.

Isolde didn't seem to have noticed him. "Connor was just trying to help his father!" she pleaded.

"And made a deal with a demon to do so?" Morrigan spoke up. "Foolish child," she sighed.

"It was a fair deal!" Connor countered in that unsettling, demonic voice. "Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do any more!"

The childish retort chilled Alessa to the bone. From the moment she'd first heard that uncanny voice, she'd begun to resign herself to the fact that the child was gone, perhaps for ever – that only the demon was left. But surely no demon would speak thus. It seemed a part of Connor was still there, and that made things far more complicated.

"Nobody tells him what to do!" Bann Teagan cried unexpectedly, looking up at Connor. "Nobody!" He giggled uncontrollably, and Alessa exchanged a concerned look with Alistair.

"Quiet, uncle!" Connor said sharply. "I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting, didn't I?" He paused in thought, then nodded. "Yes, I did." He spun round to face Alessa again. "But let's keep things civil. This woman will have the audience she seeks. Tell us, woman: What have you come here for?"

Alessa faced the boy with an outward calm that belied her anxiety. "I came here to help."

"To help me?" Connor asked, frowning. "To help Father? To help yourself? Which?"

"To help everyone," Alessa replied. "You, your family – those you've held captive in the castle, and the villagers you've been terrorising night after night."

"I was just having fun!" Connor protested. "Everyone else had fun too!" He looked at Teagan. "Are you having fun, Uncle?"

"Marmalade!" the bann agreed, smiling.

"You see?" Connor asked, and laughed. "We're having fun!" He frowned, and added petulantly, "I think you're just trying to spoil things." He turned to Isolde. "What do you think, Mother? I think it's threatening me."

Isolde looked from her son to Alessa, and back again, clearly terrified of saying the wrong thing. "I... I don't... th-think..." she stammered.

"Of course you don't," Connor sneered. "Ever since you sent the knights away, you do nothing but deprive me of my fun. Frankly, it's getting dull." He looked at Alessa and shook his fist. "I crave excitement! And action! This woman spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village, and now she'll repay me!"

Abruptly, a look of sheer terror came over the boy's face. With no warning, he took to his heels and fled from the room. Alessa moved to follow him, but Alistair caught her arm in warning, and she turned back, immediately seeing what had alarmed him.

Bann Teagan had risen from his perch on the edge of the dais, and was drawing his sword from the scabbard that had lain discarded beside him. His face was expressionless, and he moved towards them slowly, the weapon raised. Behind him, the few remaining castle guards were also raising their weapons. Two fell back, drawing their bows, while the rest formed a line behind their bann. All of them were focussed intently on Alessa.

"Teagan!" Isolde cried in distress, but the bann gave no sign of having heard her.

Ser Perth darted forward and grasped the arlessa's arm, pulling her away from the guards. "Get behind us, my lady," he hissed. Sobbing, she staggered to the far corner of the hall and fell to her knees, praying to the Maker.

Alessa met Alistair's eyes for a brief moment in shared horror. "Morrigan," she said urgently, not taking her eyes off the approaching men, "can you break the spell on them?"

"Clearly, 'tis a powerful enchantment," Morrigan replied. "I know of no way to undo it."

"Nor I," Jowan agreed in a low voice.

Alessa clenched her jaw. "Then we have no choice but to defend ourselves."

Ser Perth nodded his agreement. "May the Maker forgive us," he murmured, and then Teagan and the guards were upon them, and they were fighting for their lives.

Alistair, Sten and the knights intercepted the castle guards, preventing them from reaching Alessa, while Leliana and the mages distracted the two archers. Alessa was left to deal with Teagan, who drove his sword towards her. She deftly parried the blow with her sword, then brought the hilt of her dagger down on the bann's wrist, hoping to dislodge his grip on the sword.

He twisted away, the sword still firmly in his grasp, and swung it viciously towards her midriff. Unwilling to put her chainmail to the test, she blocked with her sword and dagger together, the impact jarring her arms so much she was almost surprised they weren't wrenched out of their sockets. She matched her strength against Teagan's, forcing his sword down.

At the last moment, he gained the advantage, and her sword twisted out of her grip. Teagan's sword point slashed across her right thigh, cutting through the leather and biting into the flesh beneath. Alessa bit back a cry of pain and instinctively shifted her weight onto the other leg.

The bann raised his sword again, clearly intending to press the advantage, and Alessa steeled herself for the blow; she would never be able to parry it with her dagger alone, and although she might, even now, be able to end the fight if she were prepared to risk killing Teagan, that was a step she could not take.

_We will save you all. I promise._

Her own words echoed dully in her head as she saw the sword flash down.

Suddenly Alistair was in front of her, his shield protecting her from the blow, and before the bann could adjust his attack, Alistair smashed a gauntleted fist into Teagan's temple. The bann dropped like a stone, and Alistair glanced at Alessa to make sure she was all right. She nodded at him and then looked round the room as she caught her breath, trying to ignore the pain in her leg.

The fight was over. Alessa closed her eyes momentarily when she saw the guards all lying dead. She opened them again to look back at Teagan, her heart in her mouth, fearing he was dead too.

Before she could give voice to the fear, the bann groaned and raised his head, and both Alessa and Alistair heaved a sigh of relief. Warily, they watched for a renewed attack.

"Teagan!" Isolde cried, rushing forward. "Teagan, are you all right?"

She was at Teagan's side before anyone could stop her. She offered her arm and the bann grasped it; accepting her assistance, he gained his feet somewhat unsteadily, and put a hand to his head. "I am..." He looked around at the fallen guards, and then at the blood on Alessa's leg, and bowed his head in horror. "...Better now, I think." He looked up and met Alessa's gaze unflinchingly. "My mind is my own again."

"Blessed Andraste!" Isolde said, her tone heartfelt. "I would never have forgiven myself had you died – not after I brought you here." Her voice caught. "What a fool I am!"

"'Tis is all very touching," Morrigan interjected, a slight sneer in her voice, "but what are we to do about the child?"

The arlessa looked at them in distress. "Please!" she begged. "Connor's not responsible for this! There must be some way we can save him!"

Alessa glanced at Alistair and then at the bann, seeing nothing but hopelessness in either man's eyes. She swallowed, and turned to the arlessa. "You knew about Connor's possession all along," she said. "That's what you were hiding."

It wasn't a question, but Isolde nodded shamefacedly, tears in her eyes. "I... yes. I didn't tell you because I believed we could help him." Her eyes begged Alessa for that help. "I still do."

"I'm sorry, my lady," a soft voice came from behind them, and Alessa turned to see Jowan stepping forward timidly, "but Connor has become an abomination. He's no longer your son." His voice was heavy with sorrow.

Isolde's eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed in fury. "You!" she screamed, and for a moment Alessa feared she was about to launch herself at the mage. Teagan must have felt the same, for he grasped his sister-in-law's arm firmly but gently. Isolde barely seemed to notice. "You did this to Connor!" she snarled.

"I didn't!" Jowan protested. "I didn't summon any demon, I told you!" He took a few steps toward the arlessa. "Please, if you'll let me help..."

"Help?" shrieked Isolde, and Jowan halted, swallowing. "You betrayed me! I brought you here to help my son and in return you poisoned my husband!"

Jowan hung his head and said nothing.

"This is the mage you spoke of?" Teagan said in surprise. "Didn't you say he was in the dungeon?"

"He was," Isolde ground out between gritted teeth. "I assumed the creatures had killed him by now." She looked at Alessa in undisguised fury. "He must have been set free."

"He was," Alessa confirmed, meeting the arlessa's gaze squarely. "And I stand by my decision. I thought he might be able to help." She hesitated, and then added, "And he's no more to blame for your son's condition than you are, Lady Isolde."

"How dare you!" Isolde raged. "If this man hadn't poisoned my husband, none of this would have happened!" She glared coldly at Jowan. "He should be executed!"

"_Your_ secrecy made his actions possible, Isolde," Teagan reproached her, frowning.

The arlessa's anger melted away as she faced Teagan. "But... I..." she stammered.

"I know what you must think of me, my lady," Jowan hastily put in. "I took advantage of your fear. I'm sorry, I never knew it would come to this." His apology seemed sincere.

"Well, I shan't turn away his help," Teagan said. "Not yet. And if Connor is truly an abomination..."

"He is not always the demon you saw," Isolde protested quietly. "Connor is still inside him, and sometimes he breaks through." She turned to Alessa, perhaps believing she would find a more sympathetic audience there. "Please, I just want to protect him."

Teagan's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that what started this?" he asked coldly. "You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret... to protect him."

The arlessa closed her eyes briefly. "If they discovered Connor had magic, then they'd take him away! I thought, if he learned just enough to hide it, then..." She trailed off miserably.

"Where did Connor go?" Alessa asked, trying to keep her focus on the task at hand. It was becoming increasingly difficult; her injured leg ached and throbbed, and she felt light-headed.

"Violence... scares him," said Isolde. "I... I know that sounds strange. He may have run up to his room, or..."

"Or he might be waiting to ambush us?" Alistair finished for her.

Isolde flicked an uneasy glance towards him. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "The fighting may have scared Connor into... coming out again, and so he ran."

"So you're saying he may be vulnerable?" Teagan asked heavily.

"I..." Isolde looked down and sighed. "Perhaps. Is there..." She looked at Alessa, pleading. Her voice shook. "Is there no other way?"

"Jowan?" Alessa asked, turning to him. "You wanted to help, to make things right. Can you suggest anything?"

The mage looked troubled. "The demon in Connor _needs_ to be destroyed," he said quietly. "Killing Connor is... the easiest way to do that, certainly... But there is another way. A mage could... confront the demon in the Fade, without hurting Connor himself."

"What do you mean?" Teagan demanded, a mixture of optimism and wariness in his expression. "Is the demon not within Connor?"

"Not physically," Jowan replied. "The demon approached Connor in the Fade while he dreamt, and controls him from there. We can use the connection between them to find the demon."

"You can enter the Fade then," Isolde said, hope shining in her eyes. "And kill the demon without hurting my boy?"

Jowan shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "No... but I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires lyrium and... and several mages, but I have..." He hesitated, then finished unhappily, "Blood magic."

"Blood magic is forbidden!" Alistair interrupted hotly. "That's not an option!"

Alessa put a hand on his arm and he fell silent, watching Jowan with a sullen expression. "You're saying you could use blood magic to help Connor?" she asked the mage quietly.

"Normally, lyrium provides the power for the ritual," Jowan explained. "But I can take that power from someone's life energy." He looked down, his eyes hooded with anguish. "This ritual requires a lot of it, however," he added in a shaky voice. "All of it, in fact."

The tension that met his words was palpable. Bann Teagan was the first to break it. "So... someone must die? Someone must be sacrificed?" His expression was one of pure horror.

Jowan nodded reluctantly. "Yes. And then we send another mage into the Fade. I can't enter because I'm doing the ritual." He sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It's... not much of an option."

"It's not an option at all," Alistair said, glaring at the mage. He turned to Alessa. "Please tell me you're not considering this."

"Is there no other way to enter the Fade?" Alessa asked Jowan, avoiding Alistair's question.

Jowan shrugged. "The power has to come from somewhere, and that means either lyrium, which we don't have... or blood."

"Then let it be my blood," Isolde abruptly cut in. "I will be the sacrifice."

"What?" gasped Teagan. "Isolde, are you mad? Eamon would never allow this! _I _will not allow this!"

The arlessa looked at him, her expression that of one who has passed beyond desperation. "Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him," she said hollowly, "or I give my life so that my son can live. To me, the answer is clear."

"Blood magic," Alistair said in disgust. "How can more evil be of any help here? Two wrongs don't make a right."

Privately, Alessa was inclined to agree with him; what Jowan and Isolde were contemplating was horrific. But if their only other option was to kill a young boy, one whose only crime was in trying to save his father... what was the greater evil, here?

"Connor is blameless in this. He should not have to pay the price," Isolde pleaded, echoing Alessa's own train of thought.

"It does seem like a sensible choice," Morrigan said slowly, her voice uncharacteristically persuasive. "With a willing participant, no less."

Somehow, Morrigan's approval served only to make Alessa more uncomfortable. If Jowan was performing the ritual, Morrigan would by necessity have to be the one entering the Fade; Alessa wondered if the woman was motivated more by curiosity than need.

Teagan looked at Alessa and Alistair, his expression distinctly uneasy. "It... it's up to you, my friends. It will be your companion going into the Fade. And I... I fear I cannot be impartial in this matter. The decision must be yours."

Alessa shook her head. "I need some time to consider this. Lady Isolde, Teagan... will you permit me to confer with Alistair, in private?"

Teagan bowed his head. "You may use my brother's study, at the end of the hallway. I leave the decision in your hands, my friends." He sighed heavily. "Frankly, I do not envy you the task."

"Please," Isolde begged, "do not take too long. There is not much time before Connor... does something else."

Alessa nodded, and turned to leave the hall. As she moved, pain flamed through her leg, which suddenly buckled under her. She stumbled into Alistair, the loss of balance causing her head to swim.

"Alessa!" Alistair cried in alarm, catching her before she could fall. His gaze travelled down to her thigh, and his eyes widened as he noticed the blood soaked into her leather leggings below where the bann's sword had sliced through. Blood that, Alessa noticed dizzily, had also pooled at her feet. "Andraste's flaming sword! Why didn't you say you were injured?"

"There seemed... more pressing issues at hand," she muttered, trying to push herself upright, away from him.

"Oh, no you don't," he growled, and keeping a firm grip on her, he supported her while Leliana darted to the side and drew a chair away from the long dining table. "Get my pack," he instructed Leliana, and she complied while he gently pushed Alessa into the chair. Carefully, he eased the edges of the leather away, and grimaced when he saw the deep cut beneath. Grumbling under his breath, he dug a healing poultice out of his pack and carefully applied it, then proceeded to bandage the wound as best he could.

Alessa flinched when the poultice was applied, but after the initial sting, it soothed the pain and the throbbing began to subside. The dizziness remained, however, and she tried to focus on Alistair, only vaguely aware of everyone else watching them anxiously.

At least once, Alessa was sure she made out the words 'fool woman' from Alistair's mutterings, along with a few more choice epithets, as he tightly bandaged her leg.

Finally Alistair stood, his ministrations complete, and Alessa started to get up. He placed a firm hand on each of her shoulders, pushing her back down again. "You've lost a good deal of blood," he said gruffly. "Just sit still for one damned minute, will you?"

Alessa sighed, and put her hands to her temples. "I... I do seem to be a little light-headed," she agreed, reluctantly.

Alistair dropped to a crouch in front of her, studying her face in concern, and she gave him a faint smile. "I'll be fine," she said quietly. "Really. Thank you, Alistair."

He grunted a wordless acknowledgement, and shook his head in exasperation. "You are so reckless sometimes..." He ran a hand through his hair unconsciously. "Please, promise me you'll be more careful from now on. I…" He trailed off, and for the briefest of moments, she thought she saw naked fear in his eyes. Then it was gone, and she wondered if she'd really seen it.

"I'll try," she said, covering up her uncertainty with a wry grin.

He rolled his eyes and straightened up from his crouch. Alessa looked round the room, her head starting to feel clearer. She caught Teagan's eye, and the bann stepped forward, his face a mask of guilt.

"Forgive me, my lady," he murmured. "I had no idea I had injured you so grievously."

She smiled wanly at him. "There is no blame with you, Teagan. You were not in control of your own actions." He shook his head despondently, and she deliberately lightened her tone. "And I thought we had agreed you would call me Alessa."

That won her a slight smile, which she counted as a small victory. She turned to Alistair, and took a deep breath. "We have a decision to make, and every minute we delay risks disaster."

He nodded and helped her up, then offered his arm, which she took gratefully. With Alessa leaning on him for support and favouring her injured leg, they slowly walked the short distance to the arl's study, feeling the weight of their impending decision with each step.


	13. A Promise Broken

**A Promise Broken**

As well as a writing desk and chair in the centre of the room, Arl Eamon's private study boasted two comfortable, high-backed chairs. Alistair settled Alessa into one of them, but he remained on his feet, pacing uneasily to and fro.

"Alistair—" she ventured, but he swung round suddenly and cut her off.

"You _can't_ be considering blood magic, Alessa! Please, tell me you're not." His tone was harsh, but his eyes pleaded with her.

"What would you have me do, then?" she demanded. "Kill the boy?"

Alistair flinched at her directness, and shook his head miserably. "There has to be another way," he muttered.

"I'm open to suggestions," Alessa said drily. "You heard Jowan. The only other way is lyrium, and we don't have any."

"Then we'll get some!" The desperation in Alistair's voice tugged at her heart. "From somewhere..." His face suddenly lit up with hope. "The Circle of Magi! They'll have lyrium, and the Circle Tower isn't that far from here..." He trailed off as he saw the look in her eyes.

"The Circle Tower is, what? A day's journey from here? Two?"

Alistair nodded reluctantly. "A day, at least. Maybe less, if we pushed hard and travelled light."

Alessa grimaced. "And another day's journey back again. Do you _honestly_ think the demon possessing Connor is just going to sit upstairs and wait nicely for us to get back?"

Alistair's face fell. "No," he admitted in an despairing tone.

"No," she agreed quietly. "Neither do I. If we leave here to get help from the Circle, from _anywhere_, people are going to _die_, Alistair." She swallowed. "Teagan. Isolde. Ser Perth and his knights. All those villagers we fought so damned hard to save last night." She paused to make certain she had his attention, and added quietly. "Arl Eamon."

Alistair winced, and she felt his pain as if it were her own. Never mind that they needed the arl alive and well to help them raise an army to stand against Loghain; Eamon clearly meant a great deal to Alistair, and she hated to cause either of them any suffering. But more people would suffer if they didn't resolve this situation, and quickly.

"Any of them could die, if we make the wrong call here. _All_ of them could die. We can't take that chance." She slammed her fist against the arm of the chair. "Maker's blood, Alistair, that demon could retake control of Connor at any moment! We have only two choices here, and you know it!"

"Do I?" he shouted, his fear giving way to anger. "You're awfully quick to dismiss any other possibility. There _must_ be another way! And you're not even _trying_ to find it!"

Oddly, his anger allowed her own anxiety to surface. Was he right? Was she focussing too hard on the necessity for a speedy resolution, and dismissing other options out of hand?

No. The Circle Tower _wasn't_ an option. Too many lives were at stake, and she couldn't risk them all on the painfully slim chance that the demon would remain dormant.

"What would you suggest?" she asked bitterly. "We ask the demon to just please leave, perhaps?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. He shook his head in frustration. "I don't _know_ what else to suggest. But there has to be some other way. There _has_ to be."

She swallowed, feeling tears coming to her eyes. She would not cry in front of him, not now.

_We will save you all. I promise._

She squeezed her eyes shut, and their faces swam before her. Teagan's. Isolde's. Connor's. All looked at her with accusing eyes.

She had given her word – a foolish, _childish_ thing to do, without knowing the circumstances. Because there _was_ no way to save them all.

One life, to save many. It was a fair price, wasn't it? A mother's life, given willingly to save a son's.

It _wasn't_ fair, Alessa realised. She no longer lived in a fair world. She lived in a world where family friends were now enemies, where heroes were now villains, where good men died and no matter what you did, you couldn't save everyone.

It wasn't fair. It was a harsh necessity, and nothing more.

"I wish there was another way, Alistair," she whispered shakily. "Truly, I do. But there just isn't, and wishing won't make it so." She took a deep breath. "I think we agree that whatever we are going to do, it must be done quickly?"

He grimaced, and nodded once.

"Well, then," she sighed. "Our course seems clear to me. I won't kill a child, Alistair. I can't."

"Then you mean to let the mage use his blood magic." He looked away, his face contorted in disgust. "You're going to let that.. that maleficar kill an innocent woman."

"She volunteered," Alessa said tightly. "And she's hardly innocent."

Alistair's gaze snapped back to her. "What does _that_ mean?"

Alessa grimaced. "She's lived her entire life putting what she wants above everything else, and damn the consequences. Just look at the way she treated you, Alistair! And she used underhand means to try to keep her son away from the Circle, and look what's come of it!"

"So that makes it _okay_?" Alistair retorted furiously. "You don't _like_ her, so let her be sacrificed?"

Alessa stared at him in horror. "What? No! That's not what I—"

"Does it make it easier, to think of her as the villain here?" he demanded, cutting across her protest.

"No, of course not!" But she looked away from him as a horrible doubt clutched at her. Would her course seem so clear if it was Teagan who was offering his life, instead of Isolde?

She didn't think it would.

She didn't like the arlessa, she couldn't deny that, and she couldn't change it. And she couldn't deny that she felt Isolde was at least partly to blame for the situation they now found themselves in, which made it grimly fitting that she should have been the one to offer them a way out of it.

But did any of that change the necessity of the ritual?

She took a deep breath and met Alistair's gaze squarely. "You're right," she whispered. "I don't like Isolde, and maybe that does make it easier." She swallowed. "But it doesn't make it _easy_." She leaned forward. "None of this is _easy_, Alistair. There are no good choices here. But we have to do _something_."

"And that something is sacrificing Isolde." He clenched his fists, shaking slightly. "The arl's _wife_. How are we – how am _I_ supposed to explain that to him, if – _when_ – he recovers?"

"Would you rather explain to him why we had to kill his son?" She choked back a sob, thinking again of little Oren. "He's just a little boy, Alistair!"

Tears threatened again, and she buried her head in her hands.

"Oh, Maker," she heard Alistair mutter, and then there was a slight thud as he dropped to his knees in front of her. "Andraste's sake, Alessa, please don't. I'll be lost without you to keep me strong." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. "I'm sorry," he muttered into her hair. "I know this is hard for you, too. It's just... it's _blood magic_." He shuddered. "I've been taught that it's the most evil thing ever, that nothing good can ever come of it. How do I just let that go?"

She raised her head and pulled free of him enough to meet his gaze. "You must," she said quietly. "Because the alternatives are worse."

He swallowed, and nodded. "You're right. I know you're right. But..."

She put a hand on his cheek. "No buts, Alistair. We have to do this. And I need you to be with me on this." She tried for a smile, which didn't quite come. "You keep me strong, too."

He smiled faintly back at her, and scrambled awkwardly to his feet before reaching out a hand to help her out of the chair. "Then may the Maker give us both the strength to see this through."

oOo

Everyone's eyes turned towards Alessa and Alistair as they re-entered the main hall and walked towards Teagan and Isolde, both of whom watched them tensely.

The bann took a deep breath. "You have... made a decision, then?"

Alistair nodded silently, but Alessa noticed that he didn't meet Teagan's gaze; his eyes were turned towards her, along with everyone else's. She sighed, and stood as straight as she could. "We have." She turned to the arlessa. "We will do the ritual."

Isolde let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Lady Isolde," Alessa asked. "Are you absolutely certain you want to do this? If you have any doubts—"

"I have none," Isolde interrupted without hesitation. Her head was held high, her tone defiant. "If this will save my son, then I am not afraid."

Teagan's shoulder's slumped, and his expression turned to one of utter desolation. "I understand your decision," he said heavily, addressing himself both to Isolde and Alessa. "And I cannot fault it; but neither can I condone it. Nor can I be a part of it. Please forgive me."

He turned to leave, but the arlessa caught his hand in hers. "Teagan," she said softly, "You were right – it was my actions that caused all of this. It is I who should be asking forgiveness of you. But I ask something else, instead." She sighed faintly. "Please... take care of my son, Teagan. Tell him... tell him I loved him more than life itself." She paused for a breath. "And tell Eamon I am sorry."

The bann stared at her for a moment, seeming frozen to the spot, his eyes locked on hers. Then he lifted her hand to brush it with his lips. "You are a brave woman, Isolde. I wish—" He broke off, and gave her a thin smile. "I will do as you ask." He released her hand and walked swiftly from the room without a backward glance.

A momentary silence fell after his departure, and they all looked uneasily at each other. Alessa caught Morrigan looking at her intently, and turned to face the apostate. "Are you also willing to take part in this, Morrigan? You will need to be the one to enter the Fade."

Morrigan gave her a small smile. "I had wondered if you were going to _ask_ me." She nodded. "Have no fear, I will play my part."

"Have you... ever encountered a demon in the Fade?" Jowan asked hesitantly. "There are... risks."

Morrigan snorted. "You need not be concerned for me, blood mage. No demon will turn _me _into an abomination."

Jowan nodded and gave a heavy sigh. "Let's get this started, then." He turned to Alessa, and added reluctantly, "I will need a blade."

She hesitated only a moment before unsheathing her dagger and holding it out to him. He looked at it with a slightly nauseated expression and took it gingerly, as if afraid it might burn him. With a sombre expression, he directed Morrigan to stand on the opposite side of the arlessa from him, and raised his hand to begin casting.

"What... what must I do?" Isolde questioned.

Jowan's eyes grew even more sorrowful. "Nothing, my lady. Just... stay where you are."

The arlessa nodded, and dropped to one knee, her hands clasped together, silently praying. For the success of the ritual, Alessa assumed – or perhaps simply for the strength to bear what was to come.

Looking anguished, Jowan raised his hand again and concentrated. Energy began to build up around the arlessa, becoming a faint white glow around her. A discordant hum accompanied the light, and both grew in intensity.

As they watched, Alistair stood stiffly and silently beside Alessa; she could see his tension and anxiety in every line of his body, and she shared them both.

The fears she hadn't allowed herself to consider before started to insinuate themselves into her thoughts. What if the ritual failed? What if Morrigan couldn't defeat the demon in the Fade?

What if Isolde died for nothing?

A part of her – the part that felt like a scared little girl caught in a nightmare she could not wake from – wanted to take Alistair's hand, for comfort and reassurance. But when she glanced at him and he met her eyes, his expression was steely, and she feared the gesture would be rebuffed.

Jowan's hand dropped, and then he sliced into it with Alessa's dagger, crying out in pain. He raised his bloody hand again, red droplets flying out of it, and the arlessa's body lifted clear off the ground, her back arched in agony, her mouth open in a soundless scream. She hung suspended in mid-air for a moment, quivering. Jowan cried out again, a wordless howl, and blood erupted from every pore of Isolde's body, coalescing around her like a macabre cloak as her lifeless form fell to the floor. .

Morrigan stiffened, and her body shook as if seized by some invisible force. Then she collapsed to the floor, her eyes glazed and unseeing.

oOo

_They wait anxiously for Morrigan's return from the Fade, and Alistair can't help but remember watching over another young woman, waiting for her to wake from the Joining._

_He steals a glance at Alessa. She seems smaller than she used to, as if the events here have somehow diminished her. Her hands are clenched, and she bites unconsciously at her lower lip. Her face is pale, and she looks even worse than he feels._

_He wants to comfort her, but part of him is still too angry. He knows in his heart that she made the only possible choice, that killing Connor would have been worse, but it still sickens him, what they've been a part of here today._

_As if he needed it, the bloody dagger clutched in her fist, where it's been since Jowan returned it to her, is a grim reminder of just that._

_Morrigan stirs, and Alistair looks at Jowan in alarm, certain that something has gone wrong. It hardly seems any time at all since she entered the Fade, surely there has not been enough time to defeat the demon._

_The blood mage seems to understand his unspoken question. "Time moves... differently... in the Fade, just as in a dream."_

"_Did it work?" Leliana asks anxiously, as Alessa helps Morrigan to her feet. "Is the demon gone?"_

_Before the apostate can answer, a faint cry echoes down the stair. "M-mother?"_

_Alistair heaves a sigh of relief at the normality of Connor's voice. But then he catches sight of Alessa, who is staring at Isolde's blood-drenched body. She turns to look at him, with horror in her eyes. "Sweet Andraste, don't let him come in here!"_

_Alistair nods quickly and sprints – or as close as can get to it, in his armour – towards the hallway, meaning to intercept Connor before he can enter the room. But as he reaches the door, he sees Bann Teagan standing at the foot of the stairwell. Alistair watches Connor stumble down the stairs and into the bann's arms. "Uncle?" the boy says in a small voice. "I had a terrible dream. Where is Mother?"_

_Teagan hugs him hard, staring at Alistair over the boy's head with an emptiness in his eyes that chills Alistair to the core. "Hush now, Connor. Everything is all right."_

oOo

Teagan took Connor to the arl's study, while Ser Perth and his knights saw to the grisly task of removing the arlessa's body and cleaning the main hall of blood before the boy could see it. Alessa and Alistair led their group upstairs to check for any remaining undead. They found several, but all were lying inert; without the demon to animate them, they were simply corpses again.

They found Arl Eamon in his chambers, looking like little more than a corpse himself, but Alistair found a faint pulse. Neither Morrigan nor Jowan had any skill with healing magics, but both remained with the arl to do what little they could, aided by Morrigan's herbs. Alessa and Alistair returned to Teagan with the grim news that his brother remained alive, but grievously ill.

Teagan gave them a resigned nod, and absently muttered about needing to let Murdock know the threat was ended.

Alessa looked at the bann's haggard expression, and the arms holding Connor tightly to him, and gently insisted that he let them handle everything for the moment. A grateful look passed fleetingly across Teagan's face in response.

And so Alessa and Alistair, with the help of Ser Perth, found themselves overseeing matters in the castle and the village. Alessa sent one of the knights to escort Valena back to her father, instructing the man that Dane was to remain with her until she was safely reunited with Owen. She also asked him to find out if any of the villagers would be willing to take on temporary duties in the castle, until suitable replacements could be found.

Meanwhile, Leliana and Alessa took it upon themselves to clean and clothe Isolde's body, in preparation for the funeral rites that were being organised for that evening.

Shortly before dusk, everyone gathered at the docks. The villagers had worked through the afternoon, constructing a small flotilla of rough wooden boats; bodies were carefully wrapped and loaded into these, which were then pushed out onto the lake. Archers stood at the shore, loosing flaming arrows into each boat, while the bereaved villagers tearfully watched the small boats drift and burn.

Teagan and Connor watched in silence as Isolde's body was placed reverently in the last boat by Ser Perth and Alistair, and Leliana sent the arrow winging on its way to set the little boat afire. Neither the bann nor his nephew cried; Connor seemed not to truly understand what was happening, simply clinging tightly to his uncle's hand. Teagan watched the proceedings with a bleak expression..

Alessa shivered; Alistair glanced at her, and then silently took her hand. She clasped it gratefully. They had succeeded in ridding the castle and village of the monsters threatening them, and in ridding Connor of the demon possessing him; but watching the funeral rites, Alessa could only think of how much had been lost.

Yet, if the Blight remained unchecked, how many more families would soon be grieving throughout Ferelden?

oOo

The barmaid from the village tavern, a lively young red-haired woman named Bella, had arrived at the castle early in the afternoon with a small group of village women in tow, to take charge of the more mundane tasks in the castle. They made up guest rooms for the Wardens and their companions, and organised a simple but hearty evening meal for everyone.

It was a subdued group that gathered in the main hall after their meal. Teagan had taken his supper upstairs with Connor, and the knights were out patrolling, to reassure the villagers.

Leliana had taken it upon herself to try to bolster everyone's flagging spirits with tales and songs, but for the most part these were met with stony silence.

Alistair took a long pull from his ale mug, and stared bleakly into the middle of the room. Alessa followed his gaze, and realised it was centred on the spot where the ritual had been carried out earlier that day. Frowning, she pushed her chair back and nudged his boot with hers. "I think it would do us both good to get out of here for a little while. Walk with me?"

He looked at her in surprise, and nodded a mute assent. They wandered out of the castle, and slowly began a circuit of the grounds.

"Are you all right?" Alessa asked. Alistair gave her a stony glare in response, and she grimaced. "Stupid question." He snorted quietly, and she sighed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," he muttered.

"You're still angry with me, then?"

"No."

She stopped abruptly, and arched her brows when he halted and turned back towards her. He let out a heavy sigh. "All right, yes." She nodded slowly, and he amended, "Well, not with _you_, exactly." He ran a hand through his hair absently. "Look, I know you did what you had to do. But I hate what you... what _we_... did. I can't pretend I don't."

"I hate it too, you know," she whispered. "I feel..." She swallowed. "I feel _dirty_. I bathed before supper, but it didn't help. I feel like I'll never be clean again." She shuddered.

He watched her silently, saying nothing, and she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Did he still blame her for choosing the course they had, for not finding some miracle instead?

She feared he did.

"Is it always going to be like this?" she asked, and it came out as a hoarse whisper.

His face betrayed uncertainty. "Like what?"

Alessa gestured around them helplessly. "Facing impossible choices." Her voice caught in her throat. "Beating the monsters, and still feeling like we lost."

He watched her a moment longer, and then stepped towards her and pulled her into an unexpected embrace.

It ought to have been comforting, but somehow it wasn't. Neither of them was wearing armour,.and she could feel the warmth of his body next to hers; but it did nothing to ease the chill that had settled deep inside her despite the mildness of the night.

And he held her so stiffly, they might as well have both been wearing full plate. So stiffly, that she wondered why he had bothered at all, since he clearly wanted nothing more than to be a thousand miles away.

"You did what you had to," he said again, his voice low and heavy. "That's what Grey Wardens do, right?"

She shivered.

oOo

_When they return to the hall, Alistair sees with some surprise that Bann Teagan is waiting for them; he is sitting in the seat across from Alistair's, a mug of ale in his hand._

_Alessa's stride falters momentarily at the sight of the bann, and she greets him tensely, shaking her head when he gestures for them both to join him. Pleading weariness, she bids Alistair and Teagan goodnight._

_Alistair watches Alessa leave the hall with a vague feeling of loss. Today's events have put a wall between them; a wall made of guilt and blame on both sides, and he hates it, perhaps even more than he hates the things that have caused it. But he doesn't know how to break through it._

_As bad as he feels about the blood magic ritual, he knows Alessa feels worse – it was clear from the tautness of her body when he tried to hug her, to comfort her. And it was written in the lines of her face and the tension in her bearing the moment she saw Teagan. _

_He wonders if they will ever be able to put this behind them. He hopes so, with all his heart._

_He becomes aware of being watched himself, and realises that Teagan is studying him. Uneasily, he takes his seat and turns his attention to the mug of ale in front of him._

"_You care for her a great deal, don't you?" the bann asks quietly._

_Alistair's eyes widen, and he gulps down a mouthful of ale far too quickly; he almost chokes. His gaze darts around the room, looking to see if anyone else has heard the question, but everyone else seems to have quit the room while he and Alessa were outside._

"_I... W-what? Her who?" Alistair splutters, failing dismally in an attempt to appear nonchalant._

_Teagan rolls his eyes and smiles in bitter amusement. "Alessa Cousland is a fine young woman, is she not?" His words are slightly slurred, and Alistair wonders how much ale he has drunk. "I can certainly see why you find her so entrancing. Indeed," he adds, with an air of dark mischief, "were I ten years younger, I might feel inclined to attempt to win her myself."_

_Alistair chokes again. "What?"_

_Teagan grimaces. "Do not fear, my friend – I have no such intentions." He sips his ale thoughtfully, and peers at Alistair; his eyes seem slightly unfocussed. "Does she know how you feel about her?"_

_Alistair shrugs uncomfortably. "That I'd probably be the most useless Grey Warden in the history of Ferelden without her? Yeah, I think she probably knows that." He eyes Teagan warily, hoping the bann isn't going to press the matter._

_He wonders what brought this on. It's not like he's been mooning over her or anything. Sure, she's beautiful, and brave, and capable, and lots of other good things besides – he's known all that pretty much from the moment they met – but he has no illusions that Alessa would ever notice someone like him, not in that way. _

_Teagan shakes his head in exasperation, and sighs heavily. "Keep your own counsel, then. But consider this: it would not do to lose such a woman simply because she is ignorant of your affection." His expression saddens. "In times such as these, we can all use a little light to help us through the darkness."_

_The older man shifts uneasily in his chair, and for a moment his eyes flicker unconsciously toward the spot in the centre of the room that commanded Alistair's own gaze earlier. When Teagan looks back at Alistair, there is a ghost of that awful emptiness in them again._

_It suddenly occurs to Alistair to wonder why Teagan has never married; and a moment later, he remembers how insistent the bann was on accompanying Isolde back to the castle. And then he remembers how Teagan couldn't stay in the room during the ritual, and how numb and broken he had seemed afterwards._

_Oh. Wow._

"_Did she know? How you felt about her?" Alistair asks, turning the bann's earlier question back on him, and he wonders if it's the ale that gives him the courage to ask._

_Teagan gives him a sad, rueful smile. "No, lad. I do not believe she did." He raises his tankard to Alistair in acknowledgement of the shared secret. "I certainly never spoke of it. It could have done no good, and much harm." He sighs and takes a deep draught of his ale. "Do not let love pass you by, my friend. It is a rare gift, and one to be treasured."_

_Teagan says no more on the subject, and the two men drink in silence. But Alistair thinks about his words for a long time afterwards._

oOo

As Alessa left the mail hall, she was surprised to see lamplight spilling from Eamon's study at the end of the hallway. She frowned. She'd left Teagan back in the mail hall with Alistair – had someone left the lamp burning?

She moved closer, thinking to extinguish it, and then stopped on the threshold when she saw the figure bent over the arl's desk.

"Leliana?"

The redhead looked up with a gasp, and put her hand to her mouth. "Oh!" She gave Alessa a rueful smile. "Hello."

Alessa gave the other girl a stern look. "Care to tell me what you're doing in the arl's private study?"

"I... thought he might have some maps or papers that would help us," Leliana said earnestly. "Reports of the Dalish, perhaps." She laughed lightly. "I wanted to be useful, you see."

Alessa wasn't mollified. "And you decided to do this secretly at night, rather than simply asking Teagan, because..."

Leliana sighed. "You are right, of course. My curiosity got the better of me, I fear. I am so incurably nosy!" She gave Alessa a bright smile. "I meant no harm." Her smile widened and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm in the lamplight. "But now you are here, you _must_ see what I found!" She scooped something up from the desk and held her hand out to Alessa. "Is this not a delightful curiosity?" she asked.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Alessa looked at the small silver amulet, attached to a delicate silver chain, that lay in Leliana's hand. It bore the emblem of Andraste's Flame, and looked old, but it held no enchantment or significant markings that Alessa could discern. Its only notable feature seemed to be the fine network of cracks running through it, as if it had been broken, and then painstakingly put back together again.

"What tale does it hold, do you suppose?" Leliana murmured. "It must have meant very much to somebody, once. Oh, I would so love to know the story behind it!"

Alessa took the amulet from the redhead and traced her forefinger lightly over the emblem, nodding absently; as she did, a memory floated unbidden to the surface.

"_I was so furious at being sent away I tore it off and threw it at the wall, and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do."_

Alessa's eyes widened in shock, and she almost dropped the amulet. "Where did you find this?" she demanded urgently.

Leliana looked at her, surprised at her sudden intensity. "It was in the top drawer of the desk," she confessed, slightly shamefacedly. "I'm sorry, I know I should not have—"

"No, you shouldn't," Alessa agreed, and Leliana's shoulders drooped slightly. "But in doing so, you may have discovered a treasure beyond price."

Leliana looked up at her, startled, her blue eyes burning with curiosity. Alessa shook her head slowly. "The tale is not mine to tell," she said quietly, and closed her fist gently around the amulet. "But I believe I can return this to its rightful owner." She offered no further explanation, and after a moment Leliana nodded reluctant assent.

Alessa gave the redhead a slight smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry I cannot tell you more, but know this – I feel certain your discovery will mean a great deal to the owner of this amulet."

Ushering Leliana out of the study, Alessa carefully extinguished the lamp and then followed her. They ascended the stairs in silence, but when they reached the room assigned to Leliana, the redhead turned to Alessa, her eyes wide and sad. "I am sorry if I disappointed you," she said quietly. "Truly, I meant no harm, but I know I overstepped."

Alessa sighed. She didn't approve of the other girl's actions in sneaking around the arl's private study, but she couldn't find it in herself to be angry – not when those actions had resulted in such a significant find.

"I know you didn't," she said. "But please, just ask next time?"

Leliana nodded earnestly. "I will, I promise." She beamed at Alessa, and bid her a cheerful goodnight.

Once in her own chambers, Alessa opened her fist and studied the amulet for a moment before carefully wrapping it in cloth and tucking it into her belt pouch.

Perhaps she should have left the amulet in the study, and if the arl had been well she would have. But there was no telling when – or even if – Eamon would recover. And Alistair should know about this. After everything that had happened in recent days, he could certainly use some good news. She would talk to him about it privately when the right moment came.

oOo

Next morning, Bann Teagan – appearing subdued but much more in control than the previous afternoon and evening – requested that Alessa and Alistair join him in Arl Eamon's quarters after breakfast.

Morrigan and Jowan had been unable to cure the arl's illness, and while he seemed slightly less pale than before, it was clear that, without a miracle, his chances of recovery were slim at best.

"How is Connor?" Alessa asked, hearing the boy playing in the next room.

Teagan gave them a faint smile. "Connor is his old self. He does not seem to remember anything, which is a blessing." His smile faltered. "I suppose we will need to send him to the Circle of Magi's tower for... training, once the war is over." He glanced towards the arl's bed, and his voice cracked slightly as he continued,. "Should Eamon recover, I am not sure how I will tell him of all this. Isolde is dead, yet her sacrifice saved their son." He closed his eyes for a moment, and then took a deep breath. "And there is still the matter of Jowan."

Alessa nodded. "I haven't seen him this morning. Is he...?"

"He is returned to his cell," Teagan said bluntly. He sighed. "He performed the ritual, and did not deceive us. In a way, he saved Connor's life even though he killed Isolde. I am.. unsure what to make of this. I only know I cannot make the decision on his fate myself." He hesitated, and then added in a stronger tone, "I will hold him for Eamon to decide what becomes of him."

"That is your choice," Alessa said quietly. "But I would urge you to consider that Jowan risked everything to redeem himself. He could have attempted to escape at any time after I let him out of the dungeon, but he chose to face up to his own actions and try to help, instead. And he took a great chance in offering to use blood magic openly, putting Connor's life above his own. That should not be forgotten."

Teagan nodded. "I will ensure my brother is aware of this, should he recover. For now, however, Jowan remains in the dungeon." He sighed heavily. "But our task is not done yet. Whatever the demon did to my brother, it seems to have spared his life... but he remains comatose. We cannot wake him." He gazed at them solemnly. "As odd as it may seem, the quest Isolde sent the knights on may be our only hope. We must find the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"There is no other way to heal him?" Alessa asked. "Morrigan has no gift for healing magic, I fear, but perhaps another mage more skilled in the art?" She feared she already knew the answer, and yet she was reluctant to pin all their hopes on what might amount to a fairy tale, however much the arlessa had believed in it.

"I have already sent a messenger to the Circle asking for their help," Teagan replied, "and we will continue trying all available remedies. Perhaps the demon's continued absence will make a difference. But Eamon shows no signs of responding to any kind of magical or herbal remedies. I fear the relic may be the only option." The desperation in his voice was clear; Alessa remembered his previous scepticism about the Urn's existence, and nodded quietly.

When all else failed, only faith remained.

"Eamon funded the research of a scholar in Denerim," Teagan continued.. "A Brother Genitivi. He has been trying to decipher the inscriptions on Andraste's Birth Rock. When Eamon fell ill, Isolde sent the knights to Genitivi, in the hopes that he had finally discovered the location of Andraste's final resting place." He shook his head. "But they were unable to find him. In desperation, Isolde sent others in search of the brother, or some clue of the Urn's location. Those few who have returned have reported no success on either front."

Alessa glanced at Alistair, and he gave her a slight nod. "We will seek out this Brother Genitivi, then," she said, "and find out what he has learned."

Teagan looked relieved. "Once again, I am indebted to you, my friends," Teagan said. "There is no one else who can do this, I think. Even if I wished to attempt it myself, I cannot abandon Redcliffe to its own devices." He sighed wearily. "I must oversee the rebuilding of all that his been destroyed, organise Eamon's knights as they return, draft new soldiers, and prepare the army to fight." Determination shone in his grey eyes. "I shall hand Redcliffe back to Eamon when he awakens, and in a state where it can be of some use in the coming war." He glanced at them, and an unaccustomed note of vulnerability crept into his voice as he added, "Truly, what other choice do I have?"

Alessa nodded in understanding.

oOo

With little else to go on, Alessa and Alistair agreed there was no choice but to head for Denerim, and seek out word of Brother Genitivi there. If the Brother himself could not be found, perhaps they could pick up the trail of the knights that had gone before them.

Alistair insisted on checking and redressing Alessa's leg wound before they set off, expressing concern about the strain a long journey would put on the injury. Alessa waved this off; the poultices had worked wonders, and she felt battle fit.

Teagan had insisted on organising supplies for them, and as they left, he also quietly pressed a generous amount of coin into Alessa's hand. She opened her mouth to protest, guilt washing over her; how could she take the man's gold, after everything that had happened?

Teagan smiled wanly and shook his head before she could form any words. "You are acting on my behalf, and that of my brother, in this matter, dear lady," he murmured. "Take it, please. I insist."

Alessa swallowed, and nodded. "As you wish." She tucked the coin into her pouch, and then added, "If the Urn exists, I will do what I can to find it, Teagan."

The bann's smile faltered, just for a moment, before he bowed his head. "And I could ask no more. May the Maker watch over you, and guide your path."

As they took their leave, she wondered if Teagan had been hoping for something more reassuring. But Alessa had no intention of offering any promises she might not be able to keep.

She would not make that mistake again.

.

* * *

.

_A/N: As always, my thanks go out to all those reading this story, and most especially those who take the trouble to review or otherwise let me know that they are enjoying it. That feedback makes everything worthwhile. :)_

_And once again, a special thanks to Abydos Jackson w__ho brought my attention to some problems with this chapter that I wouldn't have otherwise noticed, allowing me to (I hope!) fix them before posting.  
_


	14. Lost and Found

**Lost and Found**

"Have I told you I really like the way you wear your hair?"

Alessa looked round, startled by the unexpected question. She'd been lost in her own thoughts, and had barely noticed Leliana walking alongside her. "My hair?"

Leliana nodded earnestly, beaming.

Alessa gave a slight shrug. She'd never given much thought to her hair; it was always simply pulled back into a ponytail, out of the way. She'd acquired the habit many years ago, having found out the hard way that hair falling into one's eyes while sparring with one's brother invariably led to an ignominious defeat at the hands of said brother. "Thank you, I guess." She shrugged.

Leliana smiled. "It's very nice, and it suits you. Simple, not like the elaborate hairstyles we wore in Orlais. They involved flowers, ribbons, jewels..."

Alessa glanced around to see if any of the others were listening to their conversation, feeling rather embarrassed by its frivolous nature. To her relief, no-one appeared to be taking any notice.

"One year," Leliana continued, blissfully unaware of Alessa's discomfort, "feathers were all the rage, and Lady Elise decided she needed to outdo everyone else, and actually wore live songbirds in her voluminous hair."

"_Songbirds_?" Alessa gasped, intrigued despite herself.

"Yes!" Leliana giggled. "The chirping was quite charming for a while, but you must realise, terrified little birdies often have..." She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. "...loose bowels."

Alessa put a hand to her mouth in horrified delight. "Dear Maker!"

Leliana laughed. "Yes... you can imagine what she looked like by the end of the evening."

Alessa chuckled at the thought.

"But I was trying to say something nice about you, wasn't I? Oh, forgive me. My mind wanders so." Leliana sighed. "It's just that I... I feel so comfortable talking to you. I feel like I could say anything, and you wouldn't judge me."

"Well, we are friends, aren't we?"

Leliana beamed. "Yes. Very much so."

Alessa's own smile belied her inner discomfort. Finding Leliana in the arl's study the night before had re-awoken all her previous questions about the other girl's past and her motives. There was clearly so much more to her than the lay sister she had presented herself as.

And yet, Alessa found Leliana's presence to be a comfort. Her eternally cheery disposition was a much needed tonic, especially after recent events. And the redhead was always easy to talk to, unlike many of the 'friends' she'd had in the past.

In truth, her mother had often tried to foster friendships between Alessa and the daughters of her own friends, but Alessa had always felt more at ease in the company of Fergus and Roland than she had around any of those young noblewomen.

With Leliana, though, she didn't feel like she had to watch every word, or be on the alert for hidden agendas under the surface. She could simply be herself.

And for all the mystery about her past, the redhead had given Alessa no reason to doubt her sincerity in wanting to help the Wardens.

Leliana _was_ a friend, Alessa realised. And friends trusted each other. Leliana had put her trust in Alessa; it was time she returned the favour.

Besides, in these dark times, she could use all the friends she could get.

oOo

They made camp in the late afternoon; much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Alessa's injured leg was beginning to ache, and she knew she needed to rest.

As they set up the camp, Alessa pondered how best to broach the subject of the amulet with Alistair. She was still contemplating the subject when, instead, he approached her.

"You know," he said tentatively, "maybe this isn't the _best_ time for this, but... I've something to ask you."

Alessa nodded in surprise, and followed him as he walked a short distance away from the campfire to gain them some privacy.

"Since we're heading to Denerim," he continued, "I wonder if, while we're there, we might be able to... look someone up."

Alessa considered this. "We'll need to keep a low profile in the city," she mused aloud. "It might not be the best time for visiting friends."

"I'm not talking about a friend, exactly." Alistair's evasive response brought a frown to Alessa's face. "And _no_, it's not that sort of friend, either," Alistair added hurriedly, seeing her expression.

Alessa bit back an annoyed retort. Why should it matter to her if he had 'that sort of friend', anyway?

"The thing is," Alistair continued, "I have a sister. A half-sister. I told you about my mother, right? She was a servant at Redcliffe Castle, and she had a daughter – only I never knew about her." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I don't think she knew about me, either. They kept my birth a secret, after all. But... after I became a Grey Warden, I did some checking, and... well, I found out she's still alive. In Denerim."

There was a gleam of hope in Alistair's eyes, and she found herself sharing it. There had been so much death and loss in his life; Alessa could relate to that. Her heart still ached with the loss of her parents and Fergus.

If there was some small measure of happiness to be found for Alistair in locating a lost sister, Alessa decided she would do everything in her power to make that happen.

"Have you contacted her?" she asked.

"No." Alistair's tone was rueful. "I thought about writing her, but I never did. And then we were called down to Ostagar, and I never got the chance." His eyes darkened and he glanced away. "With everything that happened at Redcliffe, I... well, it made me think. She's the only real family I have left." He met Alessa's gaze. "I've just been thinking that... maybe it's time I went to see her." He paused to take a breath. "With the Blight coming and everything, I... I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to see her."

Alessa nodded sombrely. "We'll look for her, Alistair."

Some of the tension eased out of Alistair's shoulders. "Could we? I'd appreciate that." He lowered his eyes. "If something happened to her and I never went to at least _see_ her... I don't know if I could forgive myself."

"How much do you know about her?" Alessa asked, trying to divert him from his pessimistic train of thought.

"Not much," he sighed. "Her name is Goldanna, and I think she remarried but still lives just outside the alienage. If we're in the area, then... well, it's worth a look." He smiled, and shrugged self-consciously. "Anyway, that was it. I guess we should... get back to the others."

He started to turn away, and Alessa reached out and touched his arm to halt him. "Wait... I have something for you."

He looked at her quizzically. Carefully, Alessa took the amulet, still wrapped in cloth, out of her belt pouch. Her mouth dry from sudden nerves that took her by surprise, she silently took Alistair's hand and placed the small bundle in it.

He looked at it in surprise and confusion. "A gift? For me?" He laughed awkwardly. "I could get used to this, you know."

"Just open it," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

Alistair did so, and when his gaze fell on the amulet he stared at it open-mouthed. "This... this is my mother's amulet. It has to be." He frowned. "But why isn't it broken?" He looked up at her in bewilderment. "Where did you find it?"

"Actually, I didn't," Alessa confessed. "Leliana did, in Redcliffe Castle – in the study. When she showed it to me, I thought – I _knew_ – it had to be the one you'd spoken to me of."

"Oh," Alistair responded in surprise. "The arl's study?" He looked at the amulet again thoughtfully. "Then he must have... found the amulet after I threw it at the wall." He met Alessa's gaze with an expression of wonder. "And he repaired it and kept it? I... I don't understand – why would he do that?"

Alessa smiled at him. "I can't speak for the arl; but it had to have taken a lot of time and trouble to put the amulet back together. I think you must mean a great deal to him."

"I... guess you could be right," Alistair said sceptically. "We never really talked that much." He shook his head. "And then the way I left..." He caught her hand in his. "Thank you," he said fervently. "I mean it. I... thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity." He gazed past her, looking off into the distance in the direction of Redcliffe. "I'll need to talk to him about this. If he recovers from his—" He cut himself off abruptly. "_When_ he recovers, that is." He sighed. "I wish I'd had this a long time ago."

"I'm just glad it's back where it belongs," Alessa said quietly.

Alistair looked at her and smiled. "And you remembered me mentioning it?" Alessa nodded. "Wow." He grinned broadly at her. "I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

Alessa couldn't resist. "I'm sorry," she teased. "Did you say something?"

His expression hardened, and she hastily gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm kidding! Of course I remembered, you idiot," she said with a warm smile. "I do pay attention to what my friends tell me, you know."

Alistair relaxed, and he smiled slowly. "Sorry. I guess I'm not all that used to having friends, either. I... I'm glad we're friends. You... It means a lot to me." He swallowed. "After what happened... well, I wasn't sure if it was going to come between us." He held her gaze earnestly. "I'm glad it hasn't."

She stared at him, momentarily thrown by his intensity, and he gave her an awkward grin. "Thank you again," he added lamely, holding up the amulet.

"You're welcome." Alessa said quietly, the smile back on her lips.

For a moment they stood there, sharing in the rare moment of tranquillity and happiness. Then a sound from the direction of the camp caught Alessa's attention, and she glanced over her shoulder with a slight sigh. "We should get back to the others," she said, nodding her head in that direction, and Alistair gestured for her lead the way.

oOo

_Alistair sits by the campfire, deep in thought. He's on watch, but his gaze keeps wandering to the amulet in his hand. _

_He remembers the arl coming to see him at the monastery, and how hateful Alistair was towards him. He wonders now if part of the reason for Eamon's visits was a desire to return this amulet to him, and his stomach ties itself in knots at the thought of how hurt the arl must have been by Alistair's refusal to talk to him._

_He's such an idiot. _

_It's not even as if he can blame it on being a child. Because he's still an idiot. He gave Alessa such a hard time over the whole blood magic... _thing_, even though he knew it was just as difficult for her. More difficult, even, because she's the one that actually made the hard choice, which he'd never have been able to do._

_And she's been nothing but understanding in return. She hasn't uttered a single word of complaint about the horrible things he said to her back at Redcliffe. She agreed to look for his sister without a moment's hesitation, even though by all rights they shouldn't be allowing any personal matters to distract them from their search for Genitivi and the Urn. And then, as if all that wasn't enough, she gave him this wonderful gift, which means more than he will ever be able to put into words._

_Teagan was right. She's an amazing woman. And despite the short time Alistair's known her, she's become far more than just a comrade to him. Teagan was right about that, too._

_He can't let her know that, though. She's out of his league, and she's given no sign that she thinks of him as anything other than a friend. If she found out how he felt... well, it'd just embarrass her, and things would get awkward, and he'd lose her friendship. He'd be a fool to do that._

_He resolves to treat her better in the future, though._

oOo

A sharp bark roused Alessa from a fitful sleep full of dark dreams. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she crawled to the tent flap and peered out, half expecting to find the camp under attack.

Instead, her gaze fell on Alistair, crouched in front of Dane a short distance away. He seemed to be talking to the hound. Intrigued, Alessa moved closer to listen.

"...really old legend about how the Hound Warriors, in the days of the old tribes, would feed their Mabari the flesh of the vanquished."

Dane whined, and Alistair shrugged. "Well, that's what I heard anyway." He glanced up and noticed Alessa. With a faint grin, he added, "It would sometimes be _human_ flesh."

Alessa made a face. "That's revolting."

Dane apparently agreed; the hound made gagging noises in his throat, as if being sick.

"Oh, like you can tell the difference," grinned Alistair. "For all you know, maybe you've already been fed something." He arched his brows teasingly at Alessa and turned back to the hound, adding in an ominous tone, "_Someone_."

Dane whimpered, and Alessa chuckled, scratching the hound behind his ears. "I'd never do that. Don't listen to Alistair; he's an idiot."

"Hey!" Alistair's protest was almost as pitiful as the hound's whimpering had been.

Alessa grinned at him. "Well, it's no more than you deserve for teasing my dog." She glanced around the camp. "Speaking of being fed... Is there anything to eat? I'm starving."

oOo

As they continued on towards Denerim, Alessa decided it was long past time she found out more about their qunari companion. She moved alongside the warrior, and matched his pace. "Can I ask you something, Sten?"

He glanced at her impassively. "You just did."

Alessa blinked, wondering if he was trying to be funny, then decided to let it pass. "Why did you come to Ferelden?"

"To answer a question."

Alessa waited for Sten to expand on his reply, but he did not. "What question?" she prompted.

Sten kept his gaze on the road ahead of them. "The arishok asked, 'What is the Blight?' By his curiosity, I am now here."

"The arishok?"

"The one who commands the antaam – the body of the qunari."

"So, he's your king?" Alessa asked.

"Qunari have no kings."

Sten's tone invited no further comment, but Alessa wasn't so easily deterred. "What do you have, then?"

"Little patience for endless questions."

Morrigan snorted quietly, and Alessa belatedly realised that the entire party was listening in fascination to the conversation. She caught Alistair's amused glance, and rolled her eyes. "So, did you find the answer to your arishok's question?" she pressed.

"A portion of it," Sten acknowledged.

"And what was the answer?"

Sten looked at her suddenly, his eyes fierce. "Were you not at Ostagar when the army was overwhelmed?" he demanded. Surprised, Alessa merely nodded. "_That_ is your answer," Sten continued.

Alessa considered this for a moment. "Don't you have to report back, then?"

The qunari looked away, facing straight ahead once more. "Yes."

"Well, I can see you're right on top of that," Alistair put in sardonically.

Sten flicked him the barest of glances. "I cannot go home." His tone was flat, and his expression was, if anything, more unreadable than ever.

"Why not?" Alessa asked in surprise.

Sten didn't meet her eyes. "It doesn't matter now." He quickened his pace, drawing away from Alessa. "Can we move on? We keep the darkspawn waiting."

Alessa shared a bemused glance with Alistair, and then shrugged and left the qunari to stride silently ahead of them.

oOo

That evening, when everyone gathered around the campfire to eat, Alessa tried again to get Sten talking. "The qunari lands are islands, isolated from the rest of Thedas, aren't they?"

Sten regarded her impassively for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes."

"So why do the qunari care about the Blight?"

"Why do you?" Sten countered.

Caught off-guard by his question, Alessa answered automatically. "I'm a Grey Warden. It's my job to care."

"Exactly," Sten nodded, and Alessa thought she detected a faint hint of approval in his voice. "You don't ask. Nor do I. The arishok sends me, and I go."

Alessa sighed, and tried another tack. "So what exactly were you doing in that cage?"

"Sitting."

Alessa rolled her eyes. "You're funny," she retorted.

Sten either missed the heavy sarcasm in her voice, or chose to ignore it. "Thank you."

She took a deep breath, and tried again. "I meant, why were you in the cage?"

"I could not leave it. It was locked," Sten said, in his deadpan voice.

Alessa gave up, exasperated. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

oOo

Later that evening, Alessa was surprised to be accosted by Sten as she walked back from the nearby stream.

"The Blight," he said without any preamble. "How will you end it?"

Alessa bit back a flippant remark; if the earlier conversations were any indication, he did not respond well to humour. "We have to fight the archdemon," she said quietly.

Sten appeared unimpressed. "Is that all? It is surrounded by an ocean of darkspawn. How will you reach it? If you reach it, how will you slay it?"

_All good questions. To which I have no good answers._

Sten's eyes narrowed when she did not respond immediately. "You say you are a Grey Warden." His tone was faintly disparaging. "I have heard stories of this order."

"Wait, you doubt I'm really a Warden?" Alessa asked indignantly.

The qunari stared at her impassively. "Great strategists and peerless warriors. That is what we hear of the Wardens. So far I am not impressed."

Anger flared up inside her. After everything that had happened, having her status as a Warden be questioned by one of her own companions was painful. "I'm not here to impress you," she informed him coldly.

Sten nodded slowly, with a faint air of satisfaction. "Evidently not." He regarded her stonily. "It remains only to see what you are here for," he added, and walked off.

Alessa stared after him incredulously, left with the odd feeling that, in some way she didn't quite understand, she had passed a test of sorts. Shaking her head, she returned to the camp.

oOo

Denerim's market district bustled with activity, assailing Alessa's senses. Merchants and hawkers called out to them, each trying to be heard over the others; in addition to the many Fereldan voices, Alessa picked out several foreign accents – Orlesian, Antivan and, she was sure, at least one Rivaini. Scents of all kinds wafted through the air: fresh bread, heady perfumes, exotic fruits and pungent spices, all intermingling to produce new smells both pleasant and not. The flower, dressmaking and clothing stalls provided a riot of colours.

And there were people _everywhere_.

Fortunately, most of them seemed inclined to give a group of armed adventurers a wide berth.

Even so, Alessa found it overwhelming. She was simply not used to seeing this many people in a single place. Highever wasn't exactly a backwater, but it didn't compare to the size and scale of Ferelden's capital city. And besides, she'd spent much of her life within the walls of Highever Castle.

She was beginning to appreciate just how sheltered an upbringing that had been.

Alistair's muttered warning to keep an eye out for cutpurses hadn't helped much, either, although Alessa privately doubted that any would be foolish enough to try to steal from their group. She hoped so, at least; they could ill afford to draw the attention of the city guards, and if any thief did try his luck, they might be forced to let him get away with it.

Coming to Denerim had been a calculated risk, but in the end, one they simply could not avoid; they needed whatever insights Brother Genitivi could provide. But Alessa had been ill at ease from the moment they'd entered the city gates, and she resolved to conclude their business as soon as possible, so that they could get out of the city and back on the road.

With a view to speeding this along, Alessa despatched Leliana to check the merchants for any supplies they might need at a reasonable price. Sten and Morrigan she sent off to locate Brother Genitivi's house.

"Now," she said, turning to Alistair. "You said your sister lived round here somewhere, right?"

He glanced at her, his expression suddenly nervous. "Yes." He looked away, surveying the nearby houses. One caught his eye, and he pointed. "There. That's my sister's house." He started to walk closer, slowly, and Alessa followed. "I'm almost sure of it, this is... yes, this is the right address." He swallowed, and looked at Alessa. "She could be inside. Could we... go and see?"

"We?" Alessa asked, a little surprised. "Wouldn't you rather meet her on your own?"

Alistair looked embarrassed. "Do I seem a little nervous? I am. I really don't know what to expect." He laughed self-consciously, momentarily halting the flood of words. "I'd like you to be there with me, if you're willing."

Alessa opened her mouth to assure him that she would be happy to accompany him, but he had carried on without waiting for a response. "Or we could... leave, I suppose." He looked at her with an expression oddly reminiscent of a condemned prisoner given a sudden reprieve. "We really don't have time to pay a visit, do we? Maybe we should go."

Alessa grinned. "You are such a coward."

"I am not!" Alistair retorted defensively. She arched her brows, and he looked sheepish. "All right, maybe I am. I am totally a coward. I just..." Panic crept into his eyes and voice again. "What would I say to her? Does she even know I exist? Will she be happy to see me?" He groaned. "Now I'm babbling. Maybe we should go." He nodded to himself. "Let's go. Let's just... go."

He started to turn away, and Alessa caught hold of his arm, smiling. "Come on, let's see if she's home."

Alistair sighed heavily and nodded. Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the door and knocked tentatively.

The door, which hadn't been latched, swung slightly inwards. Alistair glanced at Alessa with a faint air of alarm, and peered into the house. "Err... hello?"

"Eh?" a voice came from inside. "You have linens to wash?" The door was opened fully, and the woman inside peered at them for a moment before off-handedly gesturing them to enter. "I charge three bits on the bundle, you won't find better." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And don't trust what that Natalia woman tells you either, she's foreign and she'll rob you blind."

Alistair exchanged another glance with Alessa, looking taken aback by the woman's unexpected assumption.

Alessa gave him a nudge, and he dazedly entered the house; she followed him, shutting the door behind them, and then studied the woman more closely.

She wasn't reassured by what she saw. The woman's thin smile didn't reach her eyes, and her narrow face bore a calculating expression. Her clothes were clean and well-made, and her coppery hair was neatly arranged, but the house was dingy and looked ill-kept.

From further inside the house, Alessa could hear children's voices; they sounded more like they were fighting than playing.

Alessa found herself half hoping that Alistair had, after all, got the wrong house.

"I'm... not here to have any wash done," Alistair said, laughing nervously. "My name's Alistair. I'm... Well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose... I'm your brother." His voice raised hopefully at the end, and Alessa's anxiety increased.

The woman's eyes narrowed further still. "My what? I am Goldanna, yes, but I don't got a brother." She glared at them suspiciously. "What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

Alessa closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, and let out a faint sigh. "Are you sure your information was correct, Alistair?" she murmured.

_Please, let this... this _harridan_ not be his sister. He deserves better..._

Alistair glanced at her. "Yes. I... I think so." He shook his head. "I'm sure of it, in fact." He turned back to Goldanna determinedly. "Look, our mother... she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She—"

"You!" Goldanna interrupted, fury and triumph warring on her face. "I knew it! They told me you was dead! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying!"

"They told you I was dead?" Alistair looked shocked. "Who? Who told you that?"

"Them's at the castle! I told them the babe was the king's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!"

"I'm sorry," he said heavily. "I... didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him; I'm... your brother."

Goldanna scoffed. "For all the good it does me! You killed Mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time?" Her eyes narrowed again, and Alessa noted that the calculating expression was back. "That coin didn't last long, and when I went back, they ran me off!"

Alistair looked crushed at her words, and anger bubbled up inside Alessa. "That's hardly Alistair's fault, is it?"

Goldanna's lip curled in derision as she regarded Alessa. "And who in the Maker's name are you?" she sneered. "Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?"

"Hey!" Alistair cut in indignantly. "Don't speak to her that way! She's my friend, and a Grey Warden! Just like me!"

Dane echoed his sentiment with a low growl, his teeth bared at the woman.

Goldanna did not seem impressed. "Ooh, I see. A prince and Grey Warden, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?" She crossed her arms and stared at them contemptuously. "I don't know you, boy." Her eyes grew cold. "Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good! I should have told everyone!"

Alistair winced, and Alessa's anger intensified. She clenched her fists, trying to hold her emotions in check; this was Alistair's business, and she ought not to be fighting his battles for him.

"I got five mouths to feed," Goldanna continued, "and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

"I... I'm sorry," Alistair stammered, a forlorn look on his face. "I... I don't know what to say..."

The bewilderment and sadness in his voice tore at Alessa, and her self-control snapped. "Don't you dare talk to your brother like that, after he came all this way to find you! Alistair's a good man, and he just wants to know his family. He doesn't deserve to be treated like this!"

The woman turned her glare on Alessa, unashamed. "That so? Well, he isn't any brother I didn't have before he walked through that door. Unless he can make himself useful, he can just walk back on out of it, can't he?"

Alessa met the woman's stare stonily. "I'm sorry, Alistair," she said heavily. "It looks like all she wants from you is money."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Yes... it really seems that way, doesn't it?" His tone was heavy with disappointment. "I wasn't expecting my sister to be so..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm starting to wonder why I came."

"I don't know why you came either," Goldanna retorted. "Or what you expected to find. But it isn't here!" She put one hand on her hip, and gestured dismissively with the other. "Now get out of my house, the both of you!"

Alessa's fury boiled over, and she took a step towards the woman, not really knowing what she intended to do. Before she could find out, Alistair put a restraining hand on her arm.

"This was a bad idea," he muttered. "Let's just get out of here."

oOo

_Alistair's mind churns over the encounter as the door slams behind them. "Well. That was... not what I expected," he says. "To put it lightly." He shakes his head. "This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it."_

_He sees his own disappointment mirrored in Alessa's eyes, and it only increases the feeling of emptiness inside him. For so long, he's dreamed of one day finding somewhere he _belonged_. It hadn't been Redcliffe Castle, at least not once Isolde had arrived. It _definitely _hadn't been the Chantry. It hadn't even been the Grey Wardens, although that had come closest of all._

_He'd imagined that, once he found his sister, once she knew who he was..._

"_I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question." He looks at Alessa, seeking answers he knows she doesn't have. "Isn't that what family is supposed to do?" He'd thought it was, but what does he know of family, really?_

_Nothing, apparently._

"_I... I feel like a complete idiot," he mutters, looking down at his feet. Alessa's mabari whines quietly, and bumps his head against Alistair's leg._

_He feels a hand take hold of his, and he glances up at Alessa. "You're not an idiot," she says, and her tone is still as angry as it was when they were inside. "That... that _hag_ is the idiot," she adds hotly, gesturing at the house behind her. "If she can't see what a wonderful person she just let walk out of her life..." She clenches her free hand into a fist and growls in frustration, then sighs. "I'm so sorry it turned out like this, Alistair."_

"_Yes... I'm sorry too." Sorry he dragged her along for this farce of a family reunion. She didn't need to be subjected to that. "I guess I should have known better." _

"_You don't need her," she says quietly. "There are other people who care about you."_

_Bitterness washes over him. "Such as? The only person who ever cared about me was Duncan. And he's gone."_

_He regrets the words as soon as he sees the hurt in her eyes. "_I_ care about you," she says stiffly._

_He curses inwardly at his thoughtlessness. "I know you do. I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say." She deserves a better apology than that, but he can't find the right words. He gives her hand a squeeze, hoping that the gesture will go some way toward conveying his feelings. "I... Thank you. I'm glad you came with me." He casts one last glance at the door, then turns away, suddenly desperate to get away from this place, as if its very proximity is poisonous. "Let's just go. I don't want to talk about this any more."_

_He walks away from the house, barely paying attention to his direction. Alessa follows him, with her hound at her heels, and as they pass the biggest concentration of market stalls, Leliana appears out of the crowd and falls in beside them. She gives Alistair a curious look, which he pointedly ignores._

_Morrigan slips up to them, looking pleased with herself. Sten follows a step behind her._

"_Did you find Brother Genitivi?" Alessa asks._

_Morrigan raises an eyebrow. "His house, yes. The man himself – no." She smiles, and waits._

_Alessa clenches her jaw momentarily, and Alistair could almost swear he can hear her teeth grinding together. But when she speaks, her tone is one of forced patience. "But you found something, I take it?" _

_The apostate's smile widens, and she tells them of her conversation with Genitivi's assistant, Weylon, who was initially reluctant to share any information about the Brother's whereabouts – apparently fearing they would run off after him and get themselves killed. _

_Morrigan glances at Sten, and smirks. "We were able to convince him otherwise, however."_

_Alessa winces at the slight emphasis the apostate places on the word 'convince', and Alistair looks at Sten, but the qunari's expression gives nothing away. Naturally. _

"_So?" Alistair asks impatiently. If Genitivi isn't here in Denerim, then as far as he's concerned, the sooner they get out of this wretched city, the better. "Where _is_ Brother Genitivi?"_

"_He told this Weylon he would be staying at an inn near Lake Calenhad," Morrigan informs him loftily._

_Sten glowers at the mention of Lake Calenhad, which strikes Alistair as odd, but the qunari's expression doesn't invite comment. "I know an inn in that area," Alistair tells Alessa instead. "The Spoiled Princess, near the dock for the Circle Tower. We could start there."_

_Alessa nods thoughtfully. "Good. We can speak to the Circle mages about their treaty while we're there." She smiles at Alistair, her eyes twinkling; Morrigan's news seems to have banished her sour mood over the meeting with Goldanna. "Do you know the names of many inns in Ferelden?"_

"_Every single one," he nods, grinning. "You know how templars are. Drunken sots, the lot of them." He shrugs. "Or, you know, it could be because I went to the Circle Tower once, and the inn has a pretty memorable name."_

_He decides against adding that the reason it was memorable is that for some time afterwards 'the spoiled princess' had become his own private nickname – never spoken aloud, of course – for Cailan._

_She chuckles. "I liked the first explanation better." _

oOo

As they made their way towards the exit from the Market District, a guardsman crossed their path. His eyes widened as he took in their group. "Oh." He straightened his shoulders. "Can I help you, Wardens?"

Alistair moved alongside Alessa, leaving just enough room for them both to draw their weapons if needed, and a glance at him showed Alessa that his expression was anxious. Alessa shared his unease; the guardsman was alone, but if he called for help, things could turn ugly fast.

"What makes you think we're Wardens?" she asked the man, feigning a casual, confused tone..

He gave her a thin smile. "Your likenesses were passed around to the senior guardsmen at the palace." He favoured Alessa with an appraising look. "Though I must say, the sketch didn't do you much justice."

Alessa arched her brows. "Senior guardsmen?"

He gave her a nod. "Name's Sergeant Kylon."

Alessa acknowledged his introduction with a nod of her own. "Are we going to have a problem here, Sergeant?"

He barked a laugh. "Don't worry. Even if I believed the..." he snorted, "_official_ story of what happened at Ostagar, I'm no fool." He scoffed. "If I asked _my_ men to apprehend you, they'd all run and cry big sobby tears in their courtesans' bosoms and leave me all alone to be skewered." His tone was one of practicality rather than fear. He ran his eyes across each of them in turn before turning back to Alessa. "Don't disturb the peace in the market and that's well enough for me."

Alessa frowned. "Your men sound next to useless. Are they all of such standard?"

Kylon grimaced. "Not all, no – but most." He sighed. "The lower market isn't deemed _important_ enough by the captain of the guard, even less with Arl Howe in charge. So when I finally get the new men I request, I get the delightful surprise of discovering they're Lord Such-and-Such's illegitimate, untrained, moronic whelps."

A chill rushed through Alessa. "What do you mean, 'with Arl Howe in charge'?".

Kylon scowled. "You didn't know? Arl Rendon Howe is the new arl of Denerim."

"What?" It came out as a shout, and a few bystanders turned their heads. "By who's authority?"

"Teyrn Loghain's," Kylon answered shortly.

_Loghain and Howe. Again. _

Alistair put a hand on Alessa's shoulder; whether to comfort her or calm her, she neither knew nor cared. She shook him off, trembling with barely controlled fury. "What happened to the Kendells?" she demanded of the sergeant.

He sighed. "Arl Urien and most of his men died at Ostagar – they were in the vanguard with King Cailan, I'm told. Lord Vaughan remained in Denerim, but there was an... incident... with some elves in the alienage. A riot ensued, and Lord Vaughan died of his injuries some days later."

Alessa closed her eyes, trying to take this in. Arl Urien had been a good man, if a little too blind where his son was concerned. Vaughan she'd never met, but she'd heard the stories of his appetites, and the appalling way he treated the elves. In all likelihood he'd finally pushed them too far, and paid the price for it.

But the demise of both father and son, leaving the most politically significant arling in Ferelden vacant, seemed awfully convenient. First her own family, now the Kendells... And if not for the unforeseeable intervention of a demon, Arl Eamon would be dead now, too. How many other families were Loghain and Howe systematically removing?

White hot anger swept through her. "Where is Howe now?"

Sergeant Kylon frowned at her. "He's taken up residence at Arl Urien's estate, but he also spends much of his time at the palace. He could be at either place."

Wild plans ran through Alessa's head. The palace was too risky, but the arl's estate was not far from here, and if she could somehow convince Kylon to look the other way...

"Alessa." Alistair's low, urgent voice intruded on her thoughts. She glanced at him, to see a worried frown on his face. "Alessa, whatever you're thinking, don't. We..." He glanced warily at the sergeant. "We have that... thing... we need to take care of, remember?"

She clenched her fists. "Alistair, he murdered my family! And instead of being punished for it, as Cailan intended, Loghain's made him the Maker-damned arl of Denerim? You can't expect me to just let that pass!"

He caught her arm and pulled her to one side, then took her gently by the shoulders. "I understand, better than anyone." His voice was pitched low, for her ears alone. "If I thought I could get to Loghain, make him pay for Duncan and Cailan..." He grimaced. "But there are more important things at stake right now." He looked her steadily in the eye. "And if it was me wanting to run off and hunt down Loghain, you'd be saying the exact same thing to me."

She stared at him for a moment, fighting the urge to scream at him for his infuriating calm. Of all times, he had to choose _now_ to be the voice of reason?

But he was right, and she knew it. Scowling, she gave him a curt nod, and turned back to Kylon, who was watching them both with keen interest.

"My apologies, Sergeant Kylon," she said, surprised how calm her voice sounded. "As you may have gathered, Howe and I have some... unfinished business, and your news caught me unprepared." She gave him a thin smile. "But we are on our way out of Denerim, and have no plans to return. You need fear no disturbances from us." She took a breath, and added, "I appreciate your discretion today. I know we have no right to ask, but if you could delay reporting to your superiors until we are out of the city..."

Kylon snorted. "And be dragged over the coals for not attempting to single-handedly detain you?" He shook his head. "We never met, Wardens." His tone warmed noticeably as he inclined his head towards them and added, "Good luck to you both."

Alessa's smile became more genuine. "And to you."

She watched him disappear into the crowd, and then turned to Alistair. "Let's get out of here."

Not waiting for a response, she spun on her heels and marched swiftly in the direction of the city gates.


	15. Assassin

**Assassin**

The midday sun was beating down as they left the city behind them, but Alessa set a fast pace, determined to put as much distance between them and Denerim as possible before they had to stop for the night.

After a while, Alistair drew her off to one side, away from the others. "Look," he said quietly, "before we go any further I want to say something."

Alessa gestured their companions to continue on ahead. "What is it?"

"Well, first I want you to know I appreciate you going with me to see my sister. And that you... well, that you were there to talk me down after we left." He gazed solemnly at her. "You're a true friend, Alessa. I just wanted to tell you that."

"You would have done the same for me. We're in this together, Alistair."

He chuckled slightly, looking pleased. "That we are." His smile gave way to a small frown. "But there's something else." He shoved his hand through his hair unconsciously, leaving a few strands sticking out at odd angles. "Back there, talking to Sergeant Kyron—"

"Kylon," she corrected, scowling at the memory of the news the man had given them.

"Kylon, yes," Alistair nodded, his frown deepening. "But not my point."

"What _is_ your point, Alistair?" she asked irritably.

He sighed, and took both her hands in his. "Alessa, you're worrying me."

"What?" She gave him a startled look. "Why?"

He snorted. "'Why', she says. Andraste's flaming sword, you almost rushed right off to confront the sodding arl of Denerim! You were the one who said we had to keep a low profile, remember? And you wonder why I'm worried?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but he carried on, barely pausing for breath. "And it's not only that. You were so angry with Goldanna – and I'm not saying she didn't deserve it, even if she is my sister," he added hurriedly, seeing her scowl, "but it's not like you, Alessa. I know I haven't known you all that long, but I know that much."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. She wanted to retort indignantly that he didn't know her at all... but she couldn't. She hadn't even noticed, but now that she actually thought about it, she realised it was true. Her temper had been getting shorter with each passing day, her moods swinging from high to low at the slightest provocation, and he was right – it _wasn't_ like her.

"Is this another effect of the darkspawn taint?" she asked tentatively.

Alistair's brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe," he said slowly. "Some of the Wardens I knew did have short tempers." He sighed, and shook his head. "But honestly, I think it's simpler than that." He squeezed her hands slightly. "You've been carrying so much, and you never talk about it, about any of it. Your family, Ostagar, what happened at Redcliffe... You bottle it all up, Alessa, and it's just eating away at you. Maker's breath, you haven't even had a chance to grieve properly."

She blinked. "Neither have you."

"Haven't I?" His amber eyes studied her intently. "Seems to me like I did quite a bit of grieving after Ostagar. I also remember you being there for me, encouraging me to talk about it, helping me come to terms with it all, at least a little." He squeezed her hands again. "Let me do the same for you. Please."

"I..." Her voice faltered. "What is there to say? You already know what happened."

"That's not the point," he said firmly. "The point is that talking about it helps. And I don't just mean your family, but all of it." He gave a heavy sigh. "Look, I know I've made you feel like your carrying everything alone – I've left all the decisions up to you, because you're so much better at it than I am. But like you said – we're in this together. Let me carry some of the weight."

She gave him a half-hearted grin. "Well, my pack's pretty heavy." She gestured over her shoulder. "You could carry that."

"Hah!" He grinned back. "Now that's more like the Alessa I know." He let go of her hands and bumped her shoulder with his. "Just think about it, okay?" He looked round; the rest of their group had drawn far ahead of them. "Come on, we've got some distance to make up." He turned to go.

"Alistair..."

He looked back at her, concern shadowing his eyes. "Yes?"

She gave him a heartfelt smile. "Thank you."

He grinned, and bowed slightly. "At your service."

As they quickened their pace to catch up with the rest of their party, Alessa considered his words. She'd never been one to whine about her problems – not that she'd ever really had many to whine about. But whenever something had troubled her, she'd always had Fergus to lean on. Despite the difference in years between them – or perhaps because of it – they'd always been close, and with a sudden jolt she realised how much she'd missed having him to talk to. Talking to Fergus had always helped her put things in perspective.

She couldn't bring Fergus back, and Maker knew, she wasn't looking to replace him. No-one could ever take the place of her wonderful brother, with his wicked sense of humour and his huge heart, any more than anyone could ever take the place of her parents. Their loss had been too much to bear, and so she had shut it away, deep inside, along with everything else that she hadn't wanted to deal with.

But perhaps Alistair was right. Perhaps it was time to reconsider that.

Just the knowledge that he understood, that she _could_ talk to him, and that he was looking out for her, was an unexpected comfort, she realised. It felt as though a weight had been – well, not lifted, exactly, but certainly eased.

oOo

_That night, in camp, Alistair is pleased to see that Alessa seems more at ease than she has in several days. _

_While on watch, he hears her stir in the tent she and Leliana share, making the little whimpering noises that mean a taint-induced nightmare. But then she quietens down, and when he wakes her for her watch – an unusual event in itself, normally she's restlessly offering to relieve him long before his watch is up – she seems well rested._

_He goes to his own bedroll feeling rather pleased that their talk actually seems to have helped her. And he, too, sleeps more soundly that night. _

oOo

About mid-morning the next day, a dishevelled young woman emerged at a run from a side road and rushed towards them, panic in her eyes.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" she gasped. "We need help! They attacked the wagon; please help us!"

"Slow down," Alessa said soothingly. "Who attacked your wagon?"

The young woman shook her head, her eyes wide with fright. "Follow me! I'll take you to them!" She turned and darted back down the road before Alessa could stop her.

Alessa and Alistair exchanged concerned glances, and followed after her at a run, the others close behind them.

The road led into what was effectively a small ravine; rocks rose up on either side of the road. Ahead, Alessa saw not one, but two wagons, positioned in such a way that they almost blocked the road. The young woman ran up to an elf with skin darker than was usual for a native Fereldan – Alessa guessed him an Antivan or perhaps even a Rivaini. The elf was clad in rather fine-looking leather armour, and bore two daggers in crossed scabbards on his back. He had a tattoo on one side of his face.

Alessa stopped several feet away from the group; something was very wrong. The wagons showed no sign of having been damaged or looted, and the elf was showing no fear or concern; indeed, he stepped forward with a distinct swagger to meet the woman, and he seemed to be watching them intently.

Alistair skidded to a halt as soon as he realised Alessa had stopped, and the others clustered around them. The elf took another step forward, a slow, malevolent smile spreading across his face, and the woman turned to look at them; she was smiling too.

Alessa backed up instinctively as the elf made a gesture; several men, all armed and wearing a variety of armour, emerged from hiding places within or behind the wagons. Simultaneously, figures stood up from the rocks above the road on Alessa's left, and as her eyes followed the movement, she noted an old dead tree near them which stood at an odd angle; as she watched, the tree trunk fell towards her with a loud crack.

Alessa dove out of the way as it crashed down onto the path, blocking the way back; she scrambled to her feet, drawing her weapons and moving to join Alistair.

The elf's eyes narrowed, and the smile turned into a sneer. "The Grey Wardens die here!" he cried, drawing his daggers. His men followed suit, and the woman fell back a pace, already beginning to cast some spell.

Alistair uttered some colourful curses as he advanced forward to meet the mercenaries, and Alessa inwardly echoed them. The elf knew exactly who they were; this was a trap laid very specifically for the two of them, and they had walked right into it.

Feinting to one side, she ducked past the elf and made a beeline for the mage that had led them into the trap, intending to intercept the woman before she could complete her spell. Before Alessa could reach the mage, however, an arrow from Leliana's bow whistled past her ear and found its mark, piercing the woman's heart.

An urgent cry from Alistair alerted her to danger behind her. Spinning round, she barely got her sword up in time to block the elf's wicked looking dagger; if not for Alistair's warning, that dagger would have found her back.

The elf merely smiled and twirled his blades in his hands, dancing lightly on his feet as he tested her reactions. She dodged and blocked his attacks, but he was slowly edging her back towards the rocky wall of the ravine. She noted that his blades were coated with a dark, sticky substance; poison, or perhaps a paralytic venom. She dared not let those daggers so much as scratch her.

With a furious cry, Alistair suddenly loomed up behind her attacker, sword raised for a killing blow. The elf nimbly danced aside, dodging the attack, and spun lightly on his heels, one of his daggers darting towards Alistair's neck. Alistair swung his shield up to block it, and then let momentum carry the shield around; its edge caught the elf's temple, and he crumpled senseless to the ground, daggers falling harmlessly out of his hands.

With a snarl, Alistair raised his sword to finish the elf off, but Alessa stopped him with an urgent cry, indicating behind him; Leliana was in trouble, flanked by a pair of mercenaries.

Alessa charged one of them and Alistair followed a split second later, dealing with the other.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over. Alessa looked up at the rocky ridges above them, but Sten, Morrigan and Leliana had taken care of the archers up there, too. All the mercenaries lay dead around them.

_No, not quite all_, Alessa reminded herself. Returning to the prone figure of the elf, she bent down and checked for a pulse; it was a little erratic, but his heart was still beating strongly.

Alistair walked up and stood over him, his face like thunder. "Let me take care of that for you."

Alessa shook her head, and he lowered his sword in confusion. "Don't you want to know who sent them?" she asked.

"Loghain sent them," Alistair replied without hesitation. "Who else could it be?"

"You're probably right," she agreed, "but still, we should make certain. If there's even a chance that we have more enemies… We need to be sure, Alistair."

Reluctantly, he nodded. Alessa motioned to Leliana. "Help me search the wagons; see if you can find some rope."

oOo

The elf groaned. His eyelids fluttered, and then snapped open as he attempted to raise a hand to his head; Alessa had ensured his hands and feet were securely bound before allowing Morrigan to apply a poultice to his head wound. "What?" he muttered fuzzily, making an effort to focus on the figures surrounding him. "I... oh." He peered at his bound hands, and then let his head fall back against the rock wall. "Oh." He licked his lips. "I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be." He sighed. "But, I see you haven't killed me yet."

"That could be easily rectified," Alistair growled.

The elf glanced at him, and then his gaze roved across the whole group before settling on Alessa; somehow, he seemed to sense that she was the decision-maker. "Of that I have no doubt. You are most skilled." His accent was Antivan, Alessa noted. Somewhat disconcertingly, she also noticed his startling golden eyes. In fact, now that she was paying attention and not fighting for her life, she saw that the blond elf was, even by elven standards, really quite attractive.

Alessa suspected he was not above using that to his advantage, but he would not find her so easily swayed.

"If you haven't killed me, however, you must have kept me alive for some purpose, yes?"

"He speaks much, and says little." Sten regarded the elf with a hint of disdain.

The elf chuckled. "It is my way, or so I am told." In spite of being tied up, his confidence appeared to be rapidly returning. He arched a brow thoughtfully. "Let's see, then. I assume you kept me alive to ask me some questions, yes?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "If so, let me save you time and get right to the point." Somehow managing to look as if he was simply resting casually on the ground, he looked up at Alessa with a roguish smile. "My name is Zevran Arainai; Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens." He snorted in self-derision. "Which I have failed at, sadly."

"Sadly for you, perhaps," Alessa could not help retorting. "Personally, I'm rather happy about it."

Zevran acknowledged this with a smile. "So would I be, in your shoes. For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career."

"Who are these Crows you work for?"

"I can tell you that," Leliana interrupted before Zevran could reply. "They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"Quite right," confirmed Zevran proudly. "I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous."

"Not for being good assassins, I see," Alistair commented scornfully.

The elf gave him a slightly wounded look. "Oh, fine. Is that what you Fereldans do? Mock your prisoners?" He pouted. "Such cruelty."

"So you're an assassin, hired to kill us," Alessa prompted impatiently. "Hired by who?"

"A rather taciturn fellow in the capital," the elf sighed. "Loghain, I think his name was? Yes, that's it."

Alessa glanced at Alistair, to be met with a look that said, as plain as day, I told you so. She gave him a rueful smile.

"So does that mean you're loyal to Loghain?" Alistair asked, turning his attention to the assassin. Alessa noticed his hand straying near the pommel of his sword.

Zevran shrugged. "I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine; you threaten his power, yes? Beyond that, no, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service."

"And now that you've failed that service?" Alessa asked.

He grinned ruefully. "Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself."

"How much were you paid?" Leliana asked curiously.

"_I_ wasn't paid anything," Zevran replied. "The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand." He chuckled suddenly. "Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest."

"Then why are you one?" Alessa asked, not bothering to mask her suspicion.

Zevran sighed dramatically. "Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't given much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe."

"So now we're supposed to feel sorry for you?" Alistair said contemptuously.

"Oh, don't let my sad story influence you," the assassin replied in a cheery tone. "The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: wine; women; men. Whatever you happen to fancy."

Alessa exchanged a startled glance with Alistair. "Men?" he mouthed, looking rather scandalised. She shrugged. Perhaps the men were for the female Crows, if there were such.

"Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you," Zevran added. "If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it."

"Thanks. I'll take that under advisement," Alessa replied sardonically.

"You seem like a bright girl," he remarked, the roguish smile returning. "I'm sure you've other options."

She gave him a hard look, ignoring the flattery. "When and where were you to report back to Loghain?"

"I wasn't," Zevran shrugged. "If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then." He laughed.

Alessa arched her brows. "_If_ you had failed?"

The assassin grinned disarmingly. "What can I say, eh? I am an eternal optimist." He winked. "Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" He laughed heartily for a moment, but the laugh died as he took in the expressions on their faces. "No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

"You're being awfully co-operative," Alessa said suspiciously. "Why are you telling us all this?"

He chuckled. "Why not? I wasn't paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely."

"But aren't you at least loyal to the Crows?"

All the humour left the assassin's face. "Loyalty is an interesting concept," he said meaningfully, meeting Alessa's gaze squarely. "If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further."

Alessa crossed her arms. "I'm listening. Make it quick."

"Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works; if you don't kill me, the Crows will." He paused for a moment, as if considering his words carefully. "Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve _you_, instead."

"What?" Alistair said incredulously.

Alessa narrowed her eyes. "You must think I'm royally stupid."

Zevran smirked. "I think you're royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous." He chuckled at the annoyed look this brought to Alistair's face. "Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery," he added immediately. "But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess." He arched a brow, clearly enjoying himself.

Alistair growled something inaudible under his breath, and Alessa glanced at him; he was giving the assassin an extremely sour look.

"Why should I believe you won't simply wait until my guard is down, and kill me then?" she asked Zevran.

He sighed. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows, as I said; they bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch." He shrugged. "Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

Alessa considered the elf's offer. His brash manner and evident confidence in his own charms had sparked an instinctive, deep-seated suspicion in her; and yet, she felt there was far more to him than met the eye. To her surprise, and in spite of her dislike of his ways, she found that she actually believed him; there was an air of sincerity about him that lent credence to his words. He no longer seemed like a condemned man trying everything he could think of to earn a reprieve; rather he seemed like someone who had unexpectedly been given a way out of a cage.

"Won't they come after you?" Alistair asked pointedly. His underlying meaning was clear; give Zevran safe harbour, and they could be inviting the wrath of the Antivan Crows. And additional enemies was exactly what they didn't need right now.

The elf shrugged. "Possibly," he agreed. "I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not," he added in a flattering tone, "that you seem to need much help." He paused for a breath. "And if not... well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?"

"And what skills are you offering?" Alessa asked neutrally, stalling for time to come to a decision. Or perhaps it was simply the announcement of it she was delaying; she was already fairly sure what that decision was going to be. And Alistair wasn't going to like it one bit... "What use can you be to us?"

The assassin smiled, sensing victory. "I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed." He gave Alessa a devilish smile, and his tone became overtly suggestive. "Or I could stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors?" His eyes flicked briefly towards Alistair. "No?"

"W-what?" Alistair spluttered, his face reddening. "Warm her…?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your tongue, assassin."

Alessa privately found his reaction somewhat endearing, but she also felt it wise to head off his anger. "I can defend my own honour, you know," she remarked coolly.

He turned to look at her. "I… I know that! I didn't mean… I… just…" He trailed off, at a complete loss, and settled instead for glaring at Zevran, who gave him a mocking smile in return.

"And would this be before or after you stabbed me in the back?" Alessa asked the assassin, fixing him with a stern look to discourage his outrageous flirtation.

He grinned, unfazed, and tutted. "These things you say, they must drive the men back home simply _wild_." He smirked at Alistair, who appeared to be seething silently. "So what shall it be?" the assassin asked, turning his attention back to Alessa. "I'll even shine armour. You won't find a better deal, I promise."

"What do you want from us return?"

"Well... let's see." Zevran made a show of giving the matter some thought. "Being allowed to live would be nice... and would make me marginally more useful to you. And somewhere down the line, if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go my own way. Until then, I am yours. Is that fair?" He met her gaze steadily, and almost managed to hide the trace of apprehension in his eyes. He wasn't quite so sure of himself, or of her decision, as he would like her to think.

Alessa sighed, and nodded. "Very well. I accept your offer."

"What?" Alistair exclaimed. "You're taking the assassin with us, now?" He locked eyes with Alessa, both expression and tone beseeching her to reconsider. "Does that really seem like a good idea?"

"You heard him; he has no reason to return to the Crows, and every reason to need protection from them. He needs us, and we could use him."

"But… but... he's an _assassin_!"

Alessa sighed. "I'm well aware of that, Alistair."

"We can't possibly trust him!" Alistair looked sideways at the elf, who was watching the exchange with apparent amusement.

Alessa reached out a hand to touch Alistair's cheek briefly, and he jerked his gaze back to her in surprise. "I'm not asking you to trust him," she said quietly. "I'm asking you to trust _me_. I know what I'm doing."

His anger deflated, and he reluctantly acquiesced. "Fine. If you're sure… I suppose we could use whatever help we can get." He sighed heavily. "Fine." He rolled his eyes. "Still, if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello." He glanced at Zevran again. "And I'm going to be keeping a close watch on him," he warned.

Alessa smiled. "I would expect no less."

As she stepped towards the elf, her dagger extended to cut through his ropes, she caught Alistair's muttered comment from behind her: "And there will be no bed-warming!" She glanced round and grinned at him, and he looked down sheepishly; clearly, he hadn't meant for that part to be heard.

"_I _think it's a fine plan," Morrigan commented idly. "But I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you."

"That's excellent advice for anyone," Zevran remarked breezily as Alessa helped him to his feet. He faced her solemnly. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation... this I swear." He bowed his head formally.

"Welcome, Zevran," Leliana said with a smile. "Having an Antivan Crow join us does sound like a fine plan."

Zevran returned the smile with interest. "Oh? You are another companion-to-be, then? I wasn't aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely."

"Or maybe not," Leliana added in a flat tone, dismissing his flirtation with an unimpressed look. But Alessa couldn't help noticing that the corners of her mouth crinkled into another small smile as she turned away to examine the wagons for anything salvageable.

oOo

_With the addition of Zevran to their group, Alessa suggests changing the watches that night, since they now have enough people to cover three watches in pairs. Alistair approves; not only will it be safer, but he has the feeling that Alessa finds standing watch alone miserable. She thrives in company; being on her own does not suit her._

_Before she can assign any of the watches, he volunteers to take the first watch with Zevran. He has no intention of letting the assassin out from under his watchful eye just yet. And this way he heads off any possibility of the elf ending up on the same watch as Alessa. Not that she can't take care of herself, but he'll be damned if he's going to leave that silver-tongued rogue alone in the dark with her to whisper his outrageous innuendos uninterrupted._

_Alessa assents with a shrug, and a grin that suggests she understands his motives all too well, and is simply humouring him. The elf openly smirks at him, and Alistair's lip curls in distaste._

_As the others retire to their tents – or in Morrigan's case, her habitual wooden shelter – Alistair offers up a quick prayer to the Maker that the assassin will let the watch pass in silence._

_And for a while, that's exactly what happens. Zevran watches him with an amused smile, but says nothing. _

_He should have known better than to think it could last, of course._

"_Alistair, is it?"_

_He sighs. "Yes."_

"_It is you and the lovely Alessa that are the Grey Wardens, yes?"_

_Alistair scowls at the assassin's casual comment about Alessa, and nods._

"_Then I think you are a lucky man, my friend."_

_Alistair's scowl deepens. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

_Zevran grins. "Come, my friend, do not play coy with me. Losing all your fellow Grey Wardens at once, it must have been very distressing for you both. Such great tragedy, it brings people closer together, no?" His grin widens into a lascivious smirk, leaving Alistair in no doubt just what he means._

_Indignant anger bubbles up at the elf's assumption that he would take advantage of Alessa's grief to worm his way into her graces. He glares coldly at Zevran. "I'm not you, assassin. Don't assume I would behave as you would." He scowls. "And don't call me 'friend'. We're not friends. If I'd had my way, you would never have woken up after that fight."_

_Zevran chuckles, not remotely deterred by Alistair's statement. "If you say so, Grey Warden. But surely you are not indifferent to her charms." He raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Unless, of course, your interest lies in quite a different direction." He favours Alistair with a look of open, unashamed appreciation, and leans towards him. "In which case, perhaps it is I that am the lucky man." His voice is suddenly low and his tone is extremely suggestive._

_Alistair recoils in horror. "You... what?... No!" The response is as vehement as it is incoherent. "I... my interests lie in perfectly normal directions, thank you!"_

_The elf lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, Grey Warden, you should see the expression on your face." He grins, and Alistair fumes silently at the ease with which he let the assassin get under his skin._

"_Just keep your lecherous thoughts – and your hands! - to yourself, assassin," he grouses, which merely provokes another chuckle._

oOo

Alessa frowned at the former templar and the assassin as she and Sten took over from them for the second watch. Zevran was wearing a self-satisfied smirk, while Alistair had an expression like thunder.

"Any trouble?" she enquired, looking from one to the other.

"No," Alistair said curtly, giving the elf a last glare before stomping off to the tent that he, Sten and Zevran were now sharing. A moment later, a bedroll was tossed out of the tent, landing with a dull thump on the grass between the tent and the campfire.

Alessa arched her brows at Zevran, who grinned unashamedly at her. "He has a poor sense of humour, your fellow Grey Warden, no?"

"Alistair has a perfectly good sense of humour," she said coolly. "Although I suspect his idea of humour, and mine, differ greatly from yours." Her eyes narrowed. "And if you want to remain with us, you will respect my friends."

Zevran's smile faded slightly, and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. "As you wish, Grey Warden." He strolled towards the tent, deftly picking up the bedroll and laying it out alongside the tent. His eyes closed almost immediately he lay down on the bedroll, and a serene smile settled on his delicate elven features as his breathing deepened.

Alessa sank into a crouch beside the fire with a sigh. Sten remained standing, and after a while she became aware of his eyes on her. She looked up to see him watching her silently. He seemed almost to be waiting for something.

She stood up. "Was there something you wanted, Sten?"

"You are not quite as callow as I thought. That is... unexpected."

Alessa gave the qunari an indignant look. "That's quite the backhanded compliment, Sten."

His brow furrowed ever so slightly. "You seem surprised. You must have heard this before."

She shook her head and snorted quietly. "No, I can honestly say no-one's ever had the gall to tell me I was callow."

_Not even Duncan, from whom it would have been a legitimate assessment._

Sten regarded her impassively. "You'll get over it. Eventually."

Alessa frowned. She could never tell if Sten's humour was intentional or accidental. She sighed. "Why did I let you out of that cage, again?"

"I have wondered that myself," Sten responded, taking her rhetorical question at face value. "It is one of the many things I find puzzling about your behaviour."

"I guess that makes us even, then," Alessa said with a wry smile. "There's plenty that puzzles me about you, too."

"What is there to be puzzled by? I'm a simple creature. I like swords, I follow orders. There's nothing else to know about me."

Alessa studied the qunari for a moment. "No," she said at last. "I don't buy it. You're not that simple, Sten. I think there's a lot more to you than meets the eye."

It was gone too quickly for her to be sure, but she could almost have sworn that the qunari's mouth quirked into the tiniest of smiles, just for a moment. "As I said, you're not as callow as I thought."

She shook her head, smiling slightly to herself. Sten watched her, saying nothing.

"Well," she said. "Now that we've established that I'm not callow—" She broke off at a slight twitch of Sten's brow and corrected herself with a grin. "I'm sorry. Not as callow as you _thought_." She titled her head and waited for his slight nod of acknowledgement before continuing. "Will you consider telling me exactly _why_ you were in that cage, now?"

He was silent so long she was certain he was ignoring the question, but finally he responded. "I caged myself."

Of all the possible answers she'd thought he might give, she'd never considered _that_. "What do you mean?"

"A weak mind is a deadly foe," Sten replied. He gave her a hard stare. "As you are no doubt aware."

Alessa decided to ignore the implied insult, suspecting the qunari was simply trying to distract her from her questions. "A weak mind?"

Sten hesitated, then answered, "I know that my failures were my own." He paused, and she waited patiently for him to continue. "I told you before that I was sent here. I was not sent alone." He exhaled slowly. "I came to your lands with seven of the Beresaad – my brothers – to seek answers about the Blight."

Alessa nodded encouragingly when he paused.

"We made our way across the Fereldan countryside without incident, seeing nothing of the threat we were sent to observe." His voice hardened. "Until the night we camped by Lake Calenhad." He paused for a breath, then continued, holding Alessa gaze with his disturbing lilac eyes. "They came from everywhere. The earth beneath our feet, the air above us... our own shadows harboured the darkspawn. I saw the last of the creatures cut down – too late. I fell."

Alessa shuddered in sympathy and understanding, remembering her experience at the Tower of Ishal. "What happened to your brothers-in-arms?" she asked tentatively, already knowing the answer. If they had survived, she surely would not have found Sten alone in Lothering.

A muscle tightened briefly along the qunari's jawline, and his voice was marginally deeper than normal. "I am told no others survived."

"I'm sorry, Sten," Alessa said quietly.

He gave no sign of having heard her. "I don't know how long I lay on the battlefield among the dead, nor do I know how the farmers found me." His shoulders rose slightly in the tiniest of shrugs. "I only know that when I woke, I was no longer among my brothers. And my sword was gone from my hand."

Alessa noted the emphasis he gave to the last remark. He had been affected by the deaths of his fellow warriors, of that much she was certain. Yet the loss of his sword seemed somehow more important – or more terrible – to him. She sensed she had best tread carefully, lest she cause offence.

"What did you do?" she asked neutrally.

"I searched for it," Sten answered. "And when that failed, I asked my rescuers what had become of it."

"What did they say?"

Sten frowned, or as near to a frown as she had ever seen from him. "They said they found me with nothing." He lowered his head.

_The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family._ That was what Leliana had told her, when they first found the qunari in his cage. Alessa swallowed. "What happened then?"

Sten met her eyes. "I killed them. With my bare hands. I did." Alessa forced herself to hold his gaze as he continued with a clear note of sorrow in his voice and in his eyes, "I knew they didn't have the blade. They had no reason to lie to me. I panicked. Unthinking, I struck them down."

"Dear Maker," Alessa murmured.

"I know I cannot justify what I have done," Sten said. "My honour is forfeit."

She swallowed again. "Why did you do it?"

"That sword was made for my hand alone," Sten explained. "I have carried it from the day I was set into the Beresaad. I was to die wielding it for my people." His voice grew heavy. "Even if I could cross Ferelden and Tevinter alone to bring my report to the arishok, I would be slain on sight by the antaam."

"What?" Alessa's voice betrayed her shock. "Why?"

"They would know me as soulless; a deserter. No soldier would cast aside his blade while he drew breath."

Alessa nodded, finally feeling like she had reached some measure of understanding of the big qunari standing before her. She found it almost impossible to grasp the concept of a soldier being executed simply for losing his sword; yet it was clear that, to Sten, that was an absolute, and something he would never think to question. It was clear, too, that it was not simply the thought of being punished for losing the sword that troubled him. He was already punishing himself, believing wholeheartedly that he had shamed himself and his brothers through its loss.

"You said this battle was near Lake Calenhad?"

"Yes."

She frowned. "Sten, we're heading for Lake Calenhad right now. Why didn't you say something?"

The qunari stared at her. "To what purpose? The sword could be anywhere by now."

Alessa shook her head in exasperation. "We'll look for your sword, Sten. If it's somewhere to be found, then we'll find it."

His eyes widened fractionally, and then narrowed. "Perhaps those words are empty, but... thank you all the same." He seemed genuinely touched by her words in spite of his apparent pessimism.

Alessa nodded in acknowledgement of his thanks, and the qunari moved away to circle the perimeter of their camp site.

As her eyes followed his movement, her gaze fell on the sleeping assassin, and her brow wrinkled as a frown settled on her face.

Something had passed between the elf and Alistair tonight, and she hoped it didn't mean trouble. Things had just begun to settle into a mostly comfortable dynamic in their party; Alistair and Leliana seemed to get along well enough, and while each of them still bickered with Morrigan, it had seemed of late to be more out of habit than from deep animosity. Sten was opening up to Alessa, and in time she hoped he would be more comfortable with the others as well.

But now, like the proverbial cat among the pigeons, there was Zevran, stirring things up. She wondered if she had made a mistake in taking him with them.

She shook her head ruefully. Things were hard enough without her second guessing her own decisions. Sten had proved, against all common sense, to be a valuable and trustworthy companion. Her instincts had been right with him; why not with the assassin, too?

She sighed. Only time would tell.

* * *

_A/N: As always, thanks to all of you who read, alert, favourite, and especially review._

_Updates may be a bit sporadic for the next few weeks, as I've got things coming up that will eat into my writing time. I'll endeavour to keep more-or less on schedule, but it might not happen._


	16. Kinloch Hold

**Kinloch Hold**

It was mid-afternoon when they crested a hill and got their first clear glimpse of Lake Calenhad's northern shores. Alessa stared with some awe at the ruined remnants of the ancient stone causeway that had once stretched out to the middle of the lake, allowing passage to the imposing tower of Kinloch Hold. Long since shattered, the causeway now served solely as a reminder of ages past. The only access to the tower was by ferry from Lake Calenhad Docks, a few miles to their south.

"The Circle tower," Alistair sighed. "Home of the mages. They just _love_ me."

Alessa grinned at him, thinking back to their first meeting. "That they do."

"Fear not," Morrigan interjected slyly. "'Tis the home of many templars, also, no?"

"Oh, yes," Alistair nodded. "And as a _former_ templar, I'm sure they just love me too." He sighed dramatically. "I'm going to feel _right_ at home."

Alessa smiled, but the smile faded as she caught a glimpse of Sten's expression. The normally stolid qunari bore a distinctly troubled look.

"Sten?" she asked quietly. "Is this where...?" She trailed off, uncertain how much he would wish her to reveal.

"My brothers and I camped, yes," Sten responded slowly. "In the shade of that tree." He pointed to a large, distinctive oak in the distance.

Alessa nodded. Alistair looked at her curiously, but refrained from asking any questions..

Leliana put a hand to her brow to shade her eyes from the reflected sun sparkling off the lake. "There is someone moving about up there," she warned. "A man, and alone, I think."

oOo

The man proved to be a dim-witted scavenger who was picking amongst the remnants of the long-deserted campsite. He greeted them defiantly at first, claiming that the spot was 'his', but once he took in their weapons and armour, and the menacing expression on Sten's face, he became more helpful.

He told them that he'd bought the spot from a red-haired trader named Faryn, who had claimed to have found giants there, along with many valuables. The scavenger sulkily admitted that it hadn't occurred to him that the trader would have already removed anything of value for himself, leaving nothing but the bones and the dirt behind.

"So you didn't find a sword?" Alessa pressed. "A qunari blade?"

"I told you, I didn't find nothing," the man grumbled, glaring at them as if this was their fault. The empty sack at his feet seemed to bear his statement out. "You'll have to ask Faryn. Squirrelly little bastard," he added in a mutter.

Alessa sighed. "And where might we find this Faryn?"

"He was going to Orzammar, he said. I imagine he's gotten there by now." He grinned suddenly. "If you find him, tell him I sent you. It'll scare the piss out him." He giggled, apparently cheered by this thought.

Alessa privately doubted the trader would be remotely perturbed by such knowledge, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She nodded to the scavenger and then led her companions back to the road, leaving the strange little man muttering to himself behind them.

Sten's face had resumed its usual stoic appearance. Alessa moved closer to the qunari. "We'll be going to Orzammar ourselves soon enough," she said reassuringly. "We'll find this Faryn. Don't give up hope."

Sten gave her a slightly sour look, but nodded anyway.

oOo

Before long they were making their way down a hill into the tiny hamlet of Lake Calenhad Docks, which was little more than an inn – The Spoiled Princess that Alistair had mentioned – and a handful of cottages.

As they approached, a grey-haired man came out of one of the cottages. "Why, bless my soul, aren't you quite the spectacle? What brings you folks here?"

Alessa glanced round at her companions. She supposed they must indeed look like an odd group, especially with Sten glowering in the background.

"Among other things, we wish to visit the Circle tower," she informed the man.

His friendly smile faded. "Ha! Don't hold your breath," he grumbled. "No one's been allowed across the lake for days."

Alessa frowned, and glanced at Alistair, who gave her a bewildered shrug. Even a supposedly straightforward visit to the mages wasn't to be easy, it seemed.

"I'm the ferryman," the man added. "Leastwise, I used to be." He sighed. "Poor old Kester, out of a job."

"Why is that?" Alessa asked, her frown deepening..

"I don't got a clue," Kester answered waspishly. "They wouldn't tell me. Greagoir just came down, and said 'Don't you worry, Kester. We got it all under control, we do.' Didn't say nothing else. And then he puts Caroll in charge of _my_ boat." He waved a hand towards the dock, and huffed indignantly. "Lissie! Named for my grandmum, she was."

"Greagoir?"

"He's knight-commander of the templars up in the tower," Kester explained. "Good man." He seemed sincere in his assessment, despite his clear grievance over having his job taken away from him. Alistair nodded in silent agreement.

"Is something wrong in the tower?" Alessa asked uneasily.

The ferryman shrugged. "I told you. They didn't tell me nothing. And if I know them mages, I'm better off keeping out of their business."

Morrigan snorted, and Alessa threw her a warning look. The apostate sniffed, but said nothing.

"Well, whatever's going on, we have to get over there," Alessa insisted. "We have an important matter to discuss with the Circle."

"Don't look at me," Kester shook his head. "I told you, I'm not the ferryman no more." He sighed. "Greagoir's told me to stay here till it blows over." He cast a dark glance towards the tower. "But I'm telling you, some storms don't blow over easy."

Alessa thanked the ferryman for his help, and they moved off. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to Alistair. "What do you suppose is going on out there?"

He shrugged, seeming unconcerned. "Probably just some drama between the mages and the templars that they don't want outsiders getting wind of." He glanced towards the small dock, where a lone young templar stood at attention, apparently guarding the small ferryboat. He didn't appear happy to have the duty. "I guess he's who we have to speak to about getting over there."

Alessa nodded. "So it would seem." She sighed. "Let's check the inn first, see if there's any word of Genitivi."

oOo

The inn, which was of a decent size, was all but empty – perhaps thanks to the current lack of transport to Kinloch Hold. A couple of surly-looking men sat at a table near the door, and eyed their group suspiciously when Alessa gave them a friendly greeting.

Alessa walked up to the innkeeper, a dark-haired man with a kindly but careworn face, and ordered ales for their party. As the man was filling their mugs, she smiled at him, pushing across the coin for the ales, and asked if he knew of a Brother Genitivi.

The innkeeper's eyes widened. "Brother Geni—" He broke off suddenly, and with a smile that seemed forced, shook his head. "No... no, I don't think I've heard of anyone by that name." His hand shook slightly as he picked up a mug and thrust it at Alessa, spilling some of the ale onto the bar.

Alistair leaned on the bar. "Are you sure? He's a scholar from Denerim. There might have been some knights from Redcliffe looking for him, as well."

The innkeeper's eyes darted from Alessa to Alistair, and back again. "I... I know everyone staying at my inn, and I've never heard of this man. And, uh, there've been no knights staying here, either."

Alessa frowned. The man had clearly recognised Genitivi's name, so why was he pretending he didn't know of him? And what had him so nervous? She leaned forward. "Is something wrong? If there's been trouble here, perhaps we can help."

A desperate look flashed across his face, and his gaze darted past Alessa, towards the men sitting by the door. "Th-they're watching me," he muttered, just loud enough for Alessa and Alistair to hear. "I can't speak openly... don't!" he hissed, as Alistair started to turn his head. "Don't look round, and keep your voice down."

Alessa nodded and lifted her ale mug, nudging Alistair to do the same. "Tell us everything," she murmured.

"They're looking for anyone asking for this Brother Genitivi. They told me to act like nothing's wrong, and just deny ever having seen the brother, or the knights."

"So they have been here," Alistair said in a low voice.

"The knights, yes," the innkeeper confirmed. "Brother Genitivi, no. He has never passed this way, to my knowledge, but the knights were here asking about him, just as you are." His fingers clenched around an empty mug. "You should be on your guard, and leave quickly. I don't know what happened to the knights, but I doubt it was anything good."

"Thank you for the warning," Alessa said quietly. She took a last swallow of her ale, and in a louder voice said, "A fine brew. My thanks." She turned away from the bar, just in time to see the two men slipping out of the door.

"That can't be good," Alistair muttered, standing shoulder to shoulder with her.

"Is there another way out of here?" Alessa asked the innkeeper.

He stared at her in panic. "I can't... if they think I've helped you..."

"Do not mistake me," Alessa said with a fierce smile. "I have no intention of running away and abandoning you here. You helped us, and we will help you."

The man did not seem completely reassured by this, but he swallowed and jerked his head towards a door at the end of the room. "Through there. Past the kitchen, there's another door that leads outside, at the side of the inn."

Alessa grinned. "Perfect." She turned to her companions, and directed Leliana, Morrigan and Zevran to take the exit the innkeeper had indicated, and circle round the back of the inn, sending Dane with them as well. Sten she asked to remain in the inn to make sure no-one troubled their new friend; the qunari gave her a nod of assent, and she flashed a reassuring smile at the innkeeper, then turned to Alistair. "Let's go see who's waiting for us, shall we?"

Drawing their weapons, the two of them waited a few moments to allow the others time to get out of the inn, and then Alistair pushed the door open.

They emerged, blinking, into the sunlight to see a group of five figures ranged a few feet in front of them. One was in heavy armour that seemed more ceremonial than practical; two more wore lighter armour and carried swords as the first man did. The pair from the inn stood at the rear, and they bore bows that they raised as soon as they saw the Wardens.

"For Andraste!" the one in the ceremonial armour cried out, and charged towards them. His fellows echoed the cry as they followed him.

Alistair and Alessa allowed the men to close in around them, standing defensively side by side with their backs to the inn. The attackers swung their swords wildly, clearly lacking in any proper training, and their blows were easily blocked.

A blast of ice rolled out from behind the side of the inn, freezing both archers in their tracks before they could adjust their aim to meet the new threat. Zevran slipped up behind one of the warriors and ducked low, slicing his daggers across the back of each

leather-clad knee. The man screamed in pain and crumpled to the ground, trying desperately to drag himself away from the unseen assailant behind him. Before he could make more than a token effort, the elf grabbed a handful of the man's hair to pull his head back, and dragged a dagger across the man's throat.

The second warrior was borne to the ground under the weight of an angry mabari, and Alessa heard a dull crunch as his head hit a protruding rock. Looking up, she saw the two archers lying still with arrows sprouting from their bodies. That left only the leader, who was backing away from them warily.

"Who are you?" Alessa demanded. "Why did you attack us? Where is Genitivi?"

The man's face contorted into a snarl. "I answer only to Her!" He raised his sword above his head and charged at them.

With a curse, Alistair moved forward to meet the man squarely. His shield easily blocked the ineffectual sword stroke, and the point of his own sword easily pierced through the man's useless armour. The attacker's own momentum pressed him into Alistair's blade, and blood bubbled from his mouth as he died.

Pulling his sword free with a grimace, Alistair looked round at Alessa. "I guess he wasn't in a chatty mood."

oOo

The innkeeper almost wept with relief when they told him the men were all dead. "They said they'd kill my wife and son if I said anything about them," he told them, clasping Alessa's hand in thanks. "Do you know who they were?"

Alessa exchanged a glance with Alistair. "I was hoping you'd be able to tell us."

The man shook his head. "I didn't dare ask them any questions, and they never talked to each other where I could hear them."

Alessa grimaced. She'd known it was a long shot, but she had nonetheless hoped the men would have let something slip to the innkeeper. They had carried nothing on them that gave any hint as to their identities, or where they might have come from.

"They called on Andraste when they attacked," Alistair mused aloud.

Alessa nodded. "And Genitivi was searching for Andraste's ashes. That can't be a coincidence."

"But what kind of person would slaughter others in Her holy name?" Leliana asked sadly.

Zevran patted her shoulder. "The same kind of person that kills needlessly in the name of any cause. They are either deeply misguided, or they relish the excuse to indulge their darkest desires while laying the responsibility elsewhere."

"And I suppose killing people for money is so much more noble?" Alistair's voice dripped sarcasm.

The assassin grinned at him. "You forget, _I_ never got paid for killing anyone. The money went to the Crows." He smirked at Alistair's glower, and added, "But no, I do not believe being an assassin is more noble. But it _is_ more honest, no?"

"So you think we're dealing with some kind of fanatic cult?" Alessa interjected, before Alistair could comment further.

Zevran inclined his head. "Perhaps."

Alessa nodded. "Well, one thing we do know: Genitivi was never here, yet his assistant claimed he would be staying in this area. So that means either Genitivi never made it this far, or..."

"Or the assistant lied," Alistair finished. "You think he's involved with these cultists, or whatever they are?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But we've nothing else to go on. I think we'd better pay Weylon another visit, don't you?"

Alistair groaned. "We just _left_ Denerim, and now we have to go straight back?" He looked distinctly unhappy at the idea.

"You are all welcome to remain here tonight," the innkeeper offered. "I have rooms enough for you all. They're not fancy, but they're clean, and my wife will cook you up a good meal. On the house," he added. "I won't hear of payment. It's the least I can do."

Alessa smiled gratefully at the man. "We may well take you up on that, good ser." She glanced at Alistair. "But first, we must pay a visit to the mages."

oOo

Alessa led the way towards the templar standing at the end of the little wooden dock. He glared sullenly at them as they approached. "You!" he said belligerently, pointing at Alessa. "You're not looking to get across to the tower, are you? Because I have strict orders not to let _anyone_ pass!"

His hostile attitude made Alessa want to respond in kind, but she made an effort to remain calm. "Why? We need to get to the tower."

"No one gets to the tower," Carroll scowled. "No one! The tower is off-limits to all!"

Alessa sighed. "This is official Grey Warden business. I must insist you take us there."

The templar crossed his arms. "Oh, you're a Grey Warden are you?" His tone was sceptical. His eyes narrowed. "Prove it."

"Prove it?" Alessa asked incredulously, her patience rapidly wearing thin. "How exactly do you propose we do that?"

Carroll plainly hadn't thought that far ahead. His brow furrowed in thought for a moment. "Kill some darkspawn!" he said finally. "Come on. Let's see some righteous Grey Wardening."

"Do they train _all _templars to be idiots?" Morrigan asked in amusement.

"Hey!" Alistair said indignantly.

"Kill some darkspawn?" Alessa asked the templar. "That's the best you can come up with?" She gestured around. "Do you _see_ any darkspawn here?"

"Well, no," admitted the templar, looking around nervously as if he expected some to pop out of hiding any moment. "Which is good, I suppose. Wouldn't want darkspawn smeared across the landscape." He looked back at Alessa. "I hear their blood is black. Is that true?" His eyes challenged her. "You'd know if you were a Grey Warden."

"It's not black, just very dark," Alistair sighed, "and it burns if you get it on your skin."

Carroll glanced sourly at him. "Oh. Pleasant, eh? Good thing _I _don't have to kill them, then."

"Yes, lucky you," Alistair shot back sarcastically.

"Anyway, it was nice chatting with you," the templar said dismissively. "Now, on your way. Right now. Go."

Alessa sighed. "We can't do that. I told you, we have official Grey Warden business in the tower."

Carroll crossed his arms defiantly, and Alessa resisted the urge to shout at the man. She glanced at Alistair, who shrugged slightly, as much at a loss as she was.

She frowned in thought. What might get through to a man who seemed indifferent to everything but the orders he'd been given?

She smiled suddenly, and said shrewdly, "You know, your knight-commander won't be happy that you've obstructed us."

"Oh, really?" Carroll laughed. "You think Greagoir would be upset with me for not letting you in?" Doubt suddenly crept into his expression. "Wait... actually, he might. Good point."

"Well, we should try our best to avoid that, shouldn't we?" Alistair said, smiling insincerely.

"He's the big guy around here," Carroll mused aloud. "I bet he could deal with a couple of Grey Wardens." He glowered at them. "_Alleged_ Grey Wardens." He thought for a moment longer, then came to a decision. "Well, you want that I should take you there now?" He looked at them impatiently, as if they were the cause of the delay.

Alessa ground her teeth, and then smiled sweetly at him. "Yes, please do."

The templar eyed their group dubiously. "I can't take you all," he said grumpily. "The boat'll carry two, maybe three of you. The rest will have to wait."

Alistair looked at Alessa, shrugging. "How many of us does it need to talk to the first enchanter, anyway?" He cast a sideways glance at Morrigan. "Besides, perhaps some of us _should_ stay here."

Morrigan sniffed disdainfully. "'Tis all the same to me. I have no desire to see how your tame mages allow themselves to be imprisoned." Her tone was contemptuous.

Alessa couldn't shake the feeling that their task might not be so simple as Alistair appeared to believe. It seemed clear to her that something in the Circle tower was amiss. But Alistair was surely more familiar with disputes between the mages and the templars than she, and he did not seem worried.

And he did have a point about Morrigan. Marching an apostate right into a templar stronghold probably wouldn't be their smartest move.

Pushing aside her unease, she nodded and turned to the others. "Alistair and I will go to the tower." She gestured towards The Spoiled Princess, and added. "The rest of you may as well wait for us inside. We should not be long."

Leliana looked a little disappointed not to be accompanying them, but she kept her own counsel and followed the others into the tavern.

Carroll sighed and turned, walking towards the ferry boat. "Come along, I suppose," he called over his shoulder as he took his seat in the middle of the boat.

Alessa clambered into the stern of the small boat while the templar steadied it, and Alistair moved towards the prow to take the seat behind Carroll. Before he could step into the boat, however, the mabari bounded past him and jumped into the prow, causing the boat to rock alarmingly.

"Dane!" Alessa scolded, but the hound barked once and then lay down in the boat, showing no intention of moving. "I guess he's coming, too," she told the templar apologetically.

Carroll scowled, but said nothing. Alistair shrugged, and climbed carefully into the stern of the little boat instead. Alessa shifted across to make space for him, but even so, there was little room, and she was aware of his nearness. Blushing slightly, she looked away from him and leant over the side of the boat to trail her hand in the water as the templar pulled sturdily on the oars and they moved away from the dock.

With three armoured people and a mabari aboard, the little ferry boat sat low in the water, but it seemed sturdy enough. The coolness of the water on her hand and the gentle rocking of the boat were calming, and she let her mind drift.

"Alessa?" Alistair's voice intruded into her reverie.

"Hmm?" She wondered how long she'd been lost in her own thoughts. A glance back showed the shore and docks were far behind them now, and the sun was sinking towards the horizon.

"You're very quiet. Is everything all right?" His expression was concerned.

She smiled reassuringly. "Everything's fine, Alistair."

He nodded, not looking noticeably reassured. "I'm sorry I'm not better company," he muttered.

She turned to him in surprise. "Are you serious? Alistair, I enjoy your company, very much."

Alistair's face lit up with a slightly goofy smile. "Really?" He grinned. "I enjoy yours, too." He chuckled quietly to himself. "You know, given the circumstances, things could have been so much worse. I'm so grateful that you're... you... instead of some other Grey Warden." He reddened. "Umm... that sounded better in my head." He laughed self-consciously. "I-I just mean to say that I can't imagine having done this without you."

Alessa opened her mouth to answer him, and then hesitated. Normally, she would have taken his comments at face value, but between his closeness and his apparent embarrassment, suddenly his words seemed charged with a deeper significance.

_Don't be silly, _she told herself sternly. _Alistair's just being... well, Alistair. He's always stumbling over his words. _

Besides, he was right. Neither of them could have got this far without the other, and she couldn't picture herself succeeding at the tasks that lay before them without Alistair at her side. She smiled back at him. "I know exactly what you mean."

Alistair gave her a wry grin. "Now we just need to be rid of that pesky archdemon, and everything will be back to normal, right?" He chuckled nervously and glanced at Carroll. Alessa followed his glance and blushed again; she'd all but forgotten the man was there.

The templar studiously ignored them both, however, concentrating solely on his oars. A mist drifted over the water, partially obscuring their view. As they neared the centre of the lake, the tower loomed over them, dark and ominous, and Alessa shivered involuntarily. She couldn't get rid of the feeling that trouble awaited them within.

Carroll carefully guided the ferry boat into a small cave at the base of the rocky island the tower was built upon. Inside, he tied the boat up at a dock somewhat larger than the one they'd departed from, and made of stone rather than wood. Alistair climbed onto the dock, holding out a hand to help Alessa out. Dane leapt unceremoniously out of the boat after them, taking a moment to sniff out this new territory.

Alessa looked at their templar guide, but he just nodded sullenly towards the set of stairs carved into the rock at the end of the dock. "On your way, then."

Alistair gestured for Alessa to take the lead, and then followed her up the stairs. Their way was lit by lanterns that gave off a soft orange glow, but there was no discernible flame within them. Alessa was momentarily startled by this, and then reminded herself ruefully that they were in the home of the Circle mages. She really shouldn't be surprised at the use of magical devices here, of all places.

They soon ascended into a small ante-chamber, with a large set of double doors at the end. With a faint sense of trepidation, Alessa pushed the doors open and walked through them.

Inside, the large hall was filled with a palpable sense of nervous tension. A pair of templars moved past her, their faces grim. Ahead of her, a grey-haired man wearing finer armour than the others was giving instructions to another templar.

"That's Knight-Commander Greagoir," Alistair murmured, gesturing discretely towards the older man.

Alessa nodded and they approached the man.

"...and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times," she heard Greagoir telling the templar as they drew near. "Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the templar replied in a heavy tone, and walked off.

"The doors are barred," Alistair noted in a low voice. "Are they keeping people out... or in?" His eyes darted around the hall, looking for any source of danger; finally, he was sharing Alessa's unease.

Alessa wished she had been wrong, and he right. But, as she'd feared, it seemed something was indeed very wrong within the tower.

"Now we wait, and pray," the knight-commander muttered to himself, and then noticed them for the first time. He turned to face them with a frown.

"Knight-Commander Greagoir," Alessa said, bowing her head politely.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "I explicitly told Carroll not to bring anyone across the lake." He glared at them. "We're dealing with a very delicate situation. You _must_ leave, for your own safety."

"We cannot, knight-commander," Alessa replied. "The mages have an obligation to the Grey Wardens, and we are in need of their help."

Greagoir's expression hardened. "I am weary of the Grey Wardens' ceaseless need for men to fight the darkspawn." He sighed. "But it is their right." He met Alessa's gaze squarely and coldly. "You'll find no allies here, however. The templars can spare no men, and the mages are..." He grimaced. "Indisposed." He turned to look at the great doors that led further into the tower; they were barred, as Alistair had pointed out. "I will speak plainly: the tower is no longer under our control."

"What?" Alistair's incredulous gasp drove the import of the words home to Alessa.

Greagoir turned back towards them and gestured towards the doors. "Abominations and demons stalk the tower's halls." His eyes darkened. "The Circle is lost. The tower has fallen."

"I don't understand. How did this happen?" Alessa demanded, shaken.

"We don't know," Greagoir admitted. "We saw only demons, hunting templars and mages alike. I realised we could not defeat them and told my men to flee." The knight-commander's voice was thick with bitter defeat. Alessa remembered the ferryman's assessment of Greagoir: "Good man." It must be very bad in the tower indeed, for him to have given up hope like this.

Alistair stared at the man in horror. "You did what?" He shook his head disbelievingly. "You're supposed to _protect_ the mages in there! You should have fought back!"

"They took us by surprise," Greagoir said heavily. "We were prepared for one or two abominations... not the horde that fell upon us."

"And what do you intend to do now?" Alessa asked.

"I would destroy the tower," the knight-commander proclaimed, "raze it to the ground – but I cannot risk more of my men. The doors remain shut and they will protect us for now."

"And what of those you have shut in there?" Alessa would not believe the situation was as hopeless as the knight-commander seemed to believe. "What about the mages?" There had to be mages left inside, mages that could be rescued.

_If there were no mages left to help against the Blight…_

She didn't want to think about that.

Greagoir lowered his eyes, his voice growing heavier still. "Not just mages, but my templars also. I had no choice. The abominations must be contained at all costs." His expression hardened. "We do not mean for the doors to stay closed forever. Everything in the tower must be eliminated." His voice was steely now. "I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements, and the Right of Annulment."

Alistair closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Alessa looked between him and Greagoir in confusion. "The Right of Annulment?"

"The Right of Annulment gives templars the authority to neutralise the mage Circle," Greagoir explained, his eyes narrowed in determination. "Completely."

"What?" gasped Alessa. "You can't mean..."

"The mages are probably already dead," Alistair said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Any abominations remaining in there must be dealt with. No matter what." He sounded very much the templar he had once been, now.

Alessa shook her head adamantly. "No. There has to be another way—"

"The situation is dire," Greagoir cut her off. "There is no alternative – everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again."

"Mages are not defenceless!" Alessa protested. "You may have trapped them in there with the demons, but some must still live!"

Alistair nodded slowly, apparently taking his lead from her optimism.

"If any are still alive," Greagoir said, his tone leaving no room for doubt that he believed it extremely unlikely, "the Maker Himself has shielded them." He shook his head, and Alessa caught a glimpse of despair in his eyes that seemed out of place. "No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find... nothing."

Alessa glanced at Alistair, her brows arched slightly in question. He blanched slightly, understanding what she was asking, but nodded firmly. Alessa turned to Greagoir. "I won't accept that the situation is as hopeless as you believe. We will search for survivors."

Greagoir stared at them incredulously. "I assure you," he protested, "an abomination is a force to be reckoned with, and you will face more than one."

"I understand the risks, ser," Alessa assured him. "But we must try. It is the right thing to do." She glanced at Alistair again. He was watching her with an expression that seemed an odd mixture of apprehension and pride. He nodded again, assuring her without words that she did not stand alone in this. Dane barked his agreement.

The knight-commander sighed, sensing her determination. "A word of caution... once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe," he warned. His eyes narrowed. "I will only believe it is over if the first enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen... Then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed." He stood a little straighter, and met Alessa's gaze squarely. "May Andraste lend you her courage."


	17. The Broken Circle

**The Broken Circle**

Alessa faced the doors, but before she could take a step, she felt Alistair's hand on her arm. She looked at him quizzically, and he glanced briefly towards the knight-commander before pulling her gently to the side of the room..

"Should we not send for the others?" he asked quietly. "Greagoir's right about one thing – abominations are fearsome things. Have you ever seen one?"

She shook her head. "Have you?"

"A full abomination? Not personally, no," he admitted. "Although I did witness a Harrowing that..." He trailed off with a shudder. "Well, that doesn't matter right now. But I heard templars talking about fighting abominations. Brave, skilled, seasoned men – and they were scared." He swallowed. "We'll need help."

Alessa shrugged helplessly. "You're probably right, and I'd feel a whole lot better if the others were here. But it will take too much time for the boat to make the round trips, and I doubt the mages trapped in there can afford to wait much longer.." She met Alistair's gaze grimly.

Alistair sighed. "I suppose you're right." He grinned weakly, and gestured towards the doors. "No time like the present, then."

Taking a deep breath, Alessa nodded and led the way, with Alistair shadowing her closely. The templars guarding the entrance glanced at them warily, then, at a nod from Greagoir, they reluctantly unbarred the doors and stood back.

Hoping she appeared calmer outwardly than she actually felt, Alessa swung the doors open, and passed through. Alistair and Dane followed her, and the moment they had all crossed the threshold, the doors swung shut behind them with an ominous clang that echoed through the hall. Behind her, Alessa could hear the muted sound of the doors being re-barred from the outside.

There was no turning back now.

The bloody corpses of mages and templars scattered the hall ahead of them, and Alessa grimaced, fearing that the stench would make her gag.

_Surely I should be used to the smell of death by now_, she mused bitterly.

Controlling the reflex, she picked her way carefully along the hall, glancing into the sleeping quarters they passed. Both she and Alistair were alert for any danger, their hands hovering close to their weapons, but nothing stirred, and the tower seemed quiet.

A moment later Alessa was forced to amend that assessment, when they heard what sounded like a child's shriek from beyond the door at the end of the hall.

Moving as one, Alessa and Alistair raced to the door, drawing their weapons. Alistair reached it first; yanking it open, he dashed through, with Alessa hard on his heels.

Her eyes darting around the chamber, Alessa quickly took in the scene around her. Half a dozen frightened children huddled in a corner, with a man and an older girl standing before them protectively, staffs gripped tightly in front of them.

At the far end of the room, an open doorway was shielded with some kind of magic barrier, which glowed with shifting blue and purple light.

Immediately before Alessa, facing away from her, two women stood side-by-side. The elder of the two, a silver-haired woman in red robes, was raising her staff; it crackled with cold energy, which she directed at the... _thing_... in front of her. Alessa had never seen anything like it – it seemed like a mass of energy shaped into sinewy flesh. It had two long arms ending in claw-like hands, and a sort of snout topped its body; the snout had two eyes that glowed like white-hot metal set into it. It had no other discernible features.

_This, then, must be an abomination._

The younger, red-haired woman hurled a spell of her own at the creature, and it howled in pain, throwing its arms aloft and seeming to melt into the very stones of the floor.

Alessa and Alistair slowed to a halt, realising the threat had been neutralised, and the silver-haired mage turned round, her staff raised towards them. As Alessa glimpsed the woman's face, she found it familiar; racking her memory, she recalled meeting the mage at Ostagar.

"Wynne?" Alistair gasped.

The woman's eyes flickered between them with a shock of recognition. "It's you!" Alistair moved towards her, and Wynne held out her staff warningly, her eyes narrowed. "No... come no further. Grey Wardens or no, I will strike you down where you stand!"

"We're not here to fight – at least, not with you," Alessa said, holding out her hands in a placatory gesture. "What are you doing here?"

Wynne relaxed slightly and drew herself up. "I am a mage of the Circle," she said calmly. "Where else would I be?" She studied them for a moment. "More importantly, why are _you_ here?"

Alessa debated briefly how much to tell the woman, but she would not win the mage's trust by keeping secrets, and Wynne already knew that she and Alistair were Grey Wardens. "We came here seeking the aid of the mages," she began.

Wynne nodded. "And you were told that the Circle was in no shape to help you, I suppose." Alessa gave her a slight nod. "So why did the templars let you in?" Wynne asked. Her eyes narrowed. "Do they plan to attack the tower now?"

Alessa exchanged a glance with Alistair. "Not yet. They are waiting for reinforcements – and the Right of Annulment."

Wynne cast her gaze downwards. "So Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope," she said sadly. "He probably assumes we are all dead."

Alessa and Alistair looked uncomfortably at each other.

Wynne sighed. "They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against both demons and templars."

Alessa glanced at the children in the corner. They looked terrified, and one of the girls was weeping quietly. She swallowed, and faced Wynne again. "What happened here?"

Wynne looked suddenly weary. "Let it suffice to say that we had... something of a revolt on our hands," she said with a grim expression, "led by a mage named Uldred. When he returned from the battle at Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle." She gestured around her. "As you can see, it didn't work out as he had planned." She sighed. "I don't know what became of Uldred, but I am certain all this is his doing." Meeting Alessa's gaze sharply, she added with a hint of steel in her voice, "I will not lose the Circle to one man's pride and stupidity."

"What do you intend to do?" Alistair asked.

Wynne turned to look at the glowing doorway. "I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children." She turned back to them, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "No one may enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save this Circle."

Alessa nodded. "That is our goal, and the reason we asked the templars to let us in. We will help you."

Wynne breathed a sigh of relief. "Once Greagoir sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable."

"Greagoir will only accept it if the first enchanter says it is so," Alessa warned.

"Then our path is laid out before us," Wynne said. "We must save Irving."

"What about the children?" Alistair interjected in a worried tone, looking towards them. "Will they be safe here?"

"Petra and Kinnon will watch them," Wynne said, smiling at the red-haired mage who had moved to stand beside her. "If we slay all the fiends we encounter on our way, none will get by to threaten the children."

Alessa nodded sombrely. As plans went, it perhaps wasn't the most sophisticated she'd ever come across – but given the circumstances, they didn't have many options. "I suppose that will work."

Wynne turned to the younger mage. "Look after the children, my dear. I will be back soon."

The red-haired woman looked at Wynne in concern. "Are you sure you're all right? You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along."

Wynne smiled reassuringly at her, and gestured towards the children. "They need your protection more. I will be all right. Stay here with them... Keep them safe and calm."

The young woman nodded, still looking troubled.

"Have faith," Alessa told them both. "We will not fail."

Wynne smiled. "Your confidence is refreshing, although you should make sure it does not blind you to your weaknesses."

Alessa smiled ruefully, and inclined her head slightly to acknowledge the older woman's wisdom.

"If you are ready," Wynne added, "let us go end this."

Alessa looked at Alistair, who nodded. At her feet, Dane barked eagerly. "We're ready," Alessa said.

They approached the barrier, and Wynne sighed. "I'm somewhat amazed at myself for keeping it in place this long," she confessed, quietly enough that the other mages would not overhear.

"You did what you had to, Wynne," Alessa said, thinking of the children.

Wynne glanced at her. "It made me very weary at times, but I had to stay strong, to keep us safe." She drew in a deep breath. "Be prepared for anything. I do not know what manner of beasts lurk beyond this barrier."

Alessa and Alistair both put a hand to their swords in readiness, and Wynne held out her hand towards the barrier, her head lowered in concentration. A faint glow of energy collected around the woman's outstretched arm, and then reached out towards the doorway. As the two energies met, the barrier dissipated.

The way was clear.

oOo

Warily, they made their way through the apprentice quarters. With each torn and bloody corpse they passed, be it mage or templar, Wynne grew more dispirited, but she never ceased to check each one, in the vain hope that some might yet live, and be healed.

The woman's healing did not go unused, however; almost every corner concealed a new group of demons. Alessa and Alistair met each group with grim resolve, but some of the larger packs would have overwhelmed them were it not for Wynne's timely intervention.

"I wish Morrigan were here," Alistair panted after a particularly vicious fight. Alessa looked at him, startled, and he shrugged uncomfortably. "Her ice spells would be handy," he muttered. He started to move away, then turned back to Alessa in alarm. "Please don't tell her I said that! I'll never hear the end of it..." She gave him a wicked grin, and he groaned. "Oh, Maker..."

She laughed. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." She clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

As they entered the next level – the senior mage quarters, Wynne told them – Alessa was startled to find a lone man, dressed in mage robes, sweeping dust and debris and who knew what else into a corner with a broom. He was studiously ignoring the bodies around him.

He turned at they approached. "Please refrain from going into the stockroom," he said, in a flat tone that made Alessa wonder if the man was in severe shock. "It is a mess, and I have not been able to get it into a fit state to be seen."

Alessa blinked, unsure how to respond. "Who are you?" she settled on.

"I am called Owain," he informed her in the same lifeless tone, "and I manage the Circle's magical stockroom." He gestured behind him. "I was trying to tidy up, but there was little I could do."

"Why are you _cleaning_ at a time like this?" Alistair's tone bordered on disbelief.

"The stockroom is my responsibility. I must keep it clean." Alessa and Alistair exchanged a confused glance as Owain continued, "I tried to leave, when things got quiet. That was when I encountered the barrier. Finding no other way out, I returned to work."

"Owain, you should have said something," Wynne interjected, sounding slightly exasperated. "I would have opened the door for you."

"The stockroom is familiar," Owain intoned. "I prefer to be here."

"How can you be so calm?" Alessa asked.

"He is one of the Tranquil," Wynne told her quietly. "The Tranquil do not have emotions."

Alistair nodded, looking enlightened. Alessa cast her mind back to her lessons; the Tranquil, she recalled, were those with the talent of magic who had either chosen not to become full mages,or who the Circle had deemed too dangerous. Becoming Tranquil, it was said, ensured that their magic would not threaten themselves or others.

It was also said to be a humane process that the Tranquil did not resent, but now, faced with the reality of it, Alessa found that hard to accept. She couldn't imagine going through life without feeling anything, good or bad.

_Could you even call that living?_

She shivered slightly, and Alistair gave her a sympathetic glance.

"I would prefer not to die," Owain said. "I would prefer it if the tower returned to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all."

"Succeed at what?" Alessa asked sharply, pushing aside her discomfort. "What's this Niall trying to do?"

"I do not know," Owain said, "but he came here with several others, and took the Litany of Adralla."

"But that protects from mind domination," Wynne said. "Is blood magic at work here?" Catching a note of alarm in the woman's voice, Alessa turned to see a worried frown on her face..

"I do not know," Owain replied again.

"Niall was in the meeting," Wynne mused aloud. "He would know." She sighed heavily. "Blood magic... I was afraid of this."

Alessa glanced at Alistair; his expression was grim, his eyes dark. She recalled his reaction to Jowan's confession of being a blood mage.

"How exactly is blood magic any worse than demons and abominations?" Alessa asked. Blood mages used blood – their own or that of others – to power their spells, she knew that only too well, but surely that was no bigger threat than what they'd already encountered.

"Blood magic could control us, too," Wynne explained. "Who knows what could happen then?"

"What do you mean, control us?"

Wynne's expression soured. "A practised blood mage can reach into your mind, influencing your decisions, or making you see things that are not real. Or they can literally take control of your mind and body. Imagine yourself a puppet, a mere slave to the whims of the puppet master."

Alessa shuddered, and nodded in understanding. She knew too little about the threats they were facing, she realised. "You said this Niall was in the meeting, Wynne. What meeting?"

The elderly mage sighed. "It is a long story, and time is of the essence."

"Please, Wynne. I need to know what we're dealing with here."

The older woman nodded. "Yes, I suppose you do." In a slow, measured voice the mage explained that she had remained at Ostagar for a time after the battle, to recover from her own wounds and to aid others who had been injured, while Uldred had set out for the Circle almost immediately. "When I finally returned here, I found that Uldred had all but convinced the Circle to join Loghain – the man who nearly destroyed us all."

"What?" Alistair gasped. Alessa closed her eyes momentarily. So Loghain had been meddling here, as well. Seeking allies, this time, she assumed, rather than removing enemies – and yet the results seemed to be just as disastrous.

"I cannot fault the Circle, though," Wynne continued. "Uldred had a persuasive argument, and how could they have known what happened in Ostagar?"

"What kind of argument?"

Wynne smiled thinly. "The alliance with Loghain would have been to the Circle's advantage, according to Uldred; once Loghain was in power, he would order the Chantry to give us more freedom."

Alessa nodded. A persuasive argument indeed, especially to any mages who chafed at their restricted lives – and she imagined there were many of those. She had to admit, it was a clever move – with the Circle behind him, Loghain's grip on the reins of power would be that much tighter.

"Well, I told Irving what Loghain did on the battlefield," Wynne carried on, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "I revealed him for the traitorous bastard he is."

"Good," Alistair muttered darkly.

Alessa glanced at him, and then returned her attention to the mage. "I'm betting Uldred wasn't happy about that."

Wynne gave her a rueful smile. "Irving said he would take care of it. He called a meeting to confront Uldred, but something must have gone wrong." She hesitated a moment, then added. "I emerged from my quarters when I heard the screams. They were coming from the meeting room, and it wasn't long before I..." She swallowed. "I saw the first abomination, running down a mage. It deteriorated quickly then." A pained look crossed her face.

"Do you think Uldred is responsible for the abominations?" Alessa asked.

Wynne shook her head sadly. "I do not know, but I fear he may be. Uldred always wanted power; I suspect Loghain promised him the position of first enchanter, or some equally elevated role. To have that within his grasp, and then be thwarted... Yes, I would not find it hard to believe that he did something rash."

"Something like blood magic?"

Wynne closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes." She sighed and met Alessa's gaze. "We should find Niall. The Litany will give us a fighting chance against any blood mages we encounter."

"I wish you luck," Owain put in. "Perhaps this will be over soon, and things will return to the way they were." Turning back to his sweeping, he added over his shoulder, "Goodbye."

Alistair looked at Alessa, and gestured towards the man. "Shouldn't we get him out of here?"

Alessa shook her head. "He's likely as safe here as with the others, and I don't think we can spare the time to argue with him."

Alistair looked slightly dubious, but he nodded and followed her as she headed further into the mage quarters.

Here, they found more varied battles than in the apprentice quarters below. Instead of merely demons, they encountered a few blood mages, as well as a group of walking corpses that gave Alessa uncomfortable flashbacks to Redcliffe.

Alessa regretted the deaths of the mages, and she could see the same was true of Alistair and Wynne; but the maleficarum attacked them on sight, leaving them no choice – it was kill, or be killed. And they had to kill quickly, or risk being turned against each other by blood magic. On one such occasion, Alessa thought she felt a barely tangible stirring within her body, as if something was tugging at the very blood in her veins; the uncomfortable sensation ended abruptly when the mage facing her died with her sword through his chest.

The worst sight was when a blood mage transformed into an abomination before their eyes. It stopped them dead in their tracks for a moment, and Wynne wailed in horror.

But when it attacked them, it died like any other demon.

The next floor was the Great Hall, and here they encountered more undead creatures, and something Wynne called an arcane horror. It seemed to be a skeleton wrapped in a mage robe, but it was able to cast spells, and something about the dread on Wynne's face told Alessa she was probably better off not knowing exactly what how the creature had come into being.

These, too, fell beneath Alessa and Alistair's swords.

Beyond the Great Hall, they discovered a new kind of horror awaiting them. Templars, apparently unharmed yet evidently no longer in control of their own minds, attacked them savagely, giving no quarter.

"Is there nothing you can do, Wynne?" Alessa cried out as she parried one templar's blade. The second templar thrust at her from the side, but Alistair swung his shield up to block it, forcing the man's attention onto himself.

"Without the Litany of Adralla – no, there is nothing I can do," the mage replied sadly. "I do not even know for sure if this is blood magic at work; it may be demonic possession."

"Wonderful," Alessa muttered through gritted teeth. A sword pierced her chainmail, and she cried out as she felt its point bite deeply into her side; Alistair roared in fury, and slammed his shield against the templar wielding it, driving both man and sword back. A moment later, a wave of cooling energy washed over Alessa, and she felt the wound closing. With renewed vigour, she unleashed a flurry of wicked blows on the other templar, who was raising his sword to swing at Alistair's head. Her dagger sliced into the exposed throat between helm and armour, and the templar collapsed, bleeding out on the stone floor. She whirled round looking for Alistair, just in time to see him run the first templar through with a fierce thrust.

They exchanged a glance of shared anguish; each of them knew they'd had no other choice, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.

_At least it can get no worse than this_.

The templar quarters on the next floor proved her wrong.

As they walked down the hallway, each of them glancing uneasily at the slick, unnatural mould that seemed to be coating many of the surfaces here, they heard the voices from an open doorway just ahead: a man and a woman talking. Expecting more blood mages, Alessa and Alistair readied their swords and moved to the doorway.

"What the...?" Alistair trailed off, lost for words.

Equally disconcerted, Alessa tried to make sense of the scene before her. In the middle of the room stood a lone templar, gazing adoringly at the woman before him, who had her back to them. At least, she resembled a woman, if one ignored her purple skin, the hair formed of bright pink flames wreathing her head, the two curved horns coming out of her skull, and the long, thin tail that flicked from side to side. Her back was bare, revealing strange patterns along her spine, and her legs were clothed in an almost transparent material.

"Everything is just as you wanted, my knight," she was saying to the templar in a seductive tone that echoed with an otherworldly timbre. "Our love and our family is more than you hoped for."

"What in the Maker's name is going on here?" Alessa demanded.

"Careful," Wynne said quietly. "I rather think she's a desire demon. They are not to be trifled with, and she will have the templar under her spell."

"Do you hear something, love?" the templar asked.

"It is nothing, my darling," the demon replied coolly. "Just the door. I will get it. The children have finished supper; tuck them into bed while I see who it is."

The templar smiled at her. "Don't be long," he chided gently. "The children will want to kiss you goodnight."

"I will be but a moment, my pet," the demon answered, turning towards them.

"Whoa!" Alistair gulped out a strangled cry, turning scarlet. From neck to waist, the desire demon wore nothing but some ornamental chains suspended from an ornate golden neck band, which left the demon's ample breasts on full display. Below her slim waist, the transparent material clothing her legs was held up by two strategically draped strips of silken cloth, which left little to the imagination, and threatened to reveal even more as she moved towards them, her hips swaying in a deliberately alluring manner. Alessa felt her own cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"You are intruding upon a loving, intimate moment," the demon said, her gaze hard and unforgiving, "and I dislike disruptions."

Alistair licked his lips nervously, gripping the pommel of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white, and took a rapid step back. He seemed unable to tear his gaze from the demon.

"I see nothing loving or intimate going on here," Alessa said coldly, unsure whether she was more irritated by the demon, or by Alistair's reaction.

The demon turned towards the templar, who was standing oblivious on the spot, a faraway look in his eyes. "I have given him what he always wanted," she purred, walking behind the templar and draping her arms around his shoulders. "Where is the harm in that?" She pouted at them.

"You've given him an illusion, nothing more," Alessa argued, glaring. "It's just a lie."

The demon smiled. "All emotion is intangible. You cannot see it, cannot grasp it."

"But it is normally caused by something real," Wynne protested. "Real events, real people. What you've done to him is... is abhorrent."

"I saw his loneliness, and longing for a family that loved him." the demon said.

"A family where the wife and children are in reality the same... person... thing." Alistair spoke up, and Alessa glanced at him. He was still blushing, but he seemed to have regained some measure of self-control, and was studiously looking past the demon, rather than at her. "That there..." He waved an arm in the demon's general direction. "That defines creepy." He glanced at Alessa, but when he met her eyes he reddened even more, and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"How long will you keep him in this stupor?" Wynne demanded. "Will he know it when his body fails and death claims him?"

"A short, blissful existence is surely preferable to an interminable one of misery?" the demon asked, arching a brow at them.

Alessa stared at the demon incredulously. "So you actually think you're doing a good thing here?"

"We are partners. I give him what no one else can, and, through him, I experience what it is to be mortal."

Alessa shook her head. "He deserves to be free from you, to find his own happiness."

The demon laughed. "What happiness?" she asked scornfully. "He has gone through life empty, resentful of his vows. You would return him to this?" She sighed. "I want nothing from you. I have what I need. All I ask is that you leave us alone."

"And what happens when his 'short, blissful existence' comes to an end? You move on to someone else?" Alessa shook her head emphatically. "I can't allow you to do that."

The demon's expression turned predatory. "Then you leave me no choice." Moving swiftly to face the templar, she cried out in a piteous tone, "Help! There are bandits at the door! They are going to murder the children!"

The templar's eyes focussed on her, and he set his jaw in fury. "They will not get past me!" He drew his sword.

"Not good," Alistair muttered, drawing his own weapon.

"Keep him busy!" Alessa cried. "I'll deal with the demon!" She feared Alistair might become distracted if he had to fight the desire demon in close quarters.

Alistair nodded curtly, and met the templar's sword with his shield.

The fight was intense. The demon had no weapons or armour, but she did have magic, and Alessa found herself frozen to the spot while the demon swiped at her with wicked claws. The templar, meanwhile, was fighting like a man with nothing to lose – or, perhaps, a man with everything to lose. Alistair was pushed slowly but inexorably back, straining to block the man's savage attacks.

Wynne and Dane made the difference. The mabari growled ferociously and leapt at the demon, his jaws tearing at the arm she threw up to protect herself. The demon was forced to concentrate on the hound, leaving her unable to take advantage of Alessa's incapacitation. Meanwhile, Wynne's healing knitted the vicious slashes the demon's claws had opened up.

From the corner of her eye, Alessa saw Alistair slam his shield into the templar's face with all his strength, leaving the man momentarily stunned. Instead of pressing his advantage, however, Alessa was puzzled to see Alistair stand stock still, his eyes closed in concentration.

Abruptly, the paralysing spell wore off, and the demon shrieked in frustration. Alistair opened his eyes and swung his shield in front of him just in time to block an attack from the templar, while Alessa brought her sword up, running the demon through. The demon screamed, a horrible sound that pierced Alessa to the bone, and lifted off the ground, her back arched impossibly, before falling to the floor in a heap.

Alessa had hoped that dispatching the demon would break the spell on the templar, but it was not so; he howled in anguish as the demon fell, and his attack on Alistair became even more frenzied. He knocked Alistair's shield aside with a forceful swing, and Alessa heard a sickening crack. Alistair gasped and the blood drained from his face, his shield arm hanging at an awkward angle by his side. The templar bore down on him; Alistair threw his sword up, barely parrying the swing, but the force of it knocked the sword from his hand, and he stumbled backwards, losing his footing.

"Alistair!" The panicked cry was past her lips before she was aware of it, and she sprinted towards them. The templar raised his sword again, turning it in his hands to drive it down, and she launched herself at the templar, ramming her dagger into the side of the man's throat. The momentum carried them both to the floor, and the templar's sword clattered to the floor, inches from Alistair's head. She yanked her dagger free, ignoring the blood that sprayed with it, and scrambled to her feet, weapons crossed warily in front of her.

She needn't have worried; the templar's eyes stared glassily up at her.

Alistair groaned, and, laying her weapons down, she dropped to one knee beside him. "Alistair! Are you all right?"

His face was pale and sweaty, but he forced a weak grin. "Think... my arm's broken," he said, gritting his teeth.

Wynne stood at his other side. "I will need to see the injury."

Alessa nodded at her and turned back to Alistair. "We're going to need to get your armour off," she said heavily. She held his gaze. "It's going to hurt."

"You don't say."

As gingerly as she could, she helped Alistair to sit up. She pulled off his gauntlets, then unbuckled the straps holding on his breastplate, pauldrons, and vambraces and removed them. Meeting his eyes with a silent apology, she lifted his arm in order to remove the gambeson he wore underneath and he screwed up his face in a grimace, teeth grinding together in his effort not to react to the pain.

With the gambeson off, Alessa carefully supported his arm, holding it out straight, while Wynne examined it.

"It's a clean break," Wynne said, a note of relief in her voice. Holding her hands above and below the arm, she murmured a spell, and a blue glow bathed hands and arm alike. Alistair gasped, and clenched his jaw again.

A moment later the glow receded, and Alistair relaxed perceptibly. Alessa noted in relief that the colour was already returning to his face. He smiled at her, and flexed his arm experimentally, wincing.

Blushing slightly, Alessa realised she still had her hand on his upper arm, and hurriedly withdrew it.

"It will be stiff and sore for a time," Wynne warned. "But the bones are mended."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He turned to Alessa, his eyes boring into hers. "And thank you. Were it not for you, I think a broken arm would be the least of my worries."

"It was nothing," she muttered, turning away slightly in embarrassment.

He caught her hand, and she looked back at him. "It was not nothing," he said quietly. He chuckled suddenly. "In fact, that was quite a display. I had no idea you could be so fierce." He grinned. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

She blushed again, and her mouth quirked into an awkward smile. "You'd better not."

In truth, it had surprised her as well, the dark instinct that had taken over when she'd seen Alistair fall. Surprised her, and unsettled her.

She shook herself inwardly, and cleared her throat. "We should go." Without meeting his eyes, she grasped Alistair's good arm to help him up, and aided him in donning his armour once more.

As she buckled him back into his breastplate, a thought occurred to her. "Back there, when I was held by the demon's spell – you did something to free me, didn't you? How did you do that?"

"Oh, that?" He smiled self-consciously. "It was nothing much, really. It's a templar trick. If I can focus my mind sufficiently, I can dispel some magical effects."

Her eyes widened. "And you never mentioned this before? What else can you do?"

He started to shrug, and it turned into a wince. "Ow." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Well, if I really concentrate, I can drain a mage's mana." He glanced at Wynne. "That one tends to upset the mage, though."

"I can't imagine why," Wynne commented drily. "I trust you will save such tricks for mages that are fighting _against_ you."

Alistair gave her a wounded look. "I'm hurt that you would even ask me that." He pouted at the older woman, and she rolled her eyes.

oOo

As they entered the last room of the templar's quarters, an imposing and rather revolting figure turned to look at them. It had the shape of a large man, but was covered in sinewy, rotting flesh rather than skin; flesh that seemed to be growing over the armour that protruded in places. Its face was warped; one eye stared directly out of an almost normal eye socket, but the other eye socket seemed almost melted into the flesh, and sinews covered over where the mouth ought to be.

Nevertheless, it spoke, the now-familiar demonic tone layered with a sibilant hiss. "Oh, look. Visitors. I'd entertain you but... too much effort involved." The creature sounded almost bored.

Alessa's eyes fell to the body of a mage lying at the thing's feet. He was unmoving, but she could see no sign of injury. She glared up at the demon. "What have you done to that man?"

"He's just resting," said the demon. "Poor lad, he was so very, very weary."

Alessa blinked; her eyelids suddenly felt heavy. Weariness seemed to have caught up with her, too.

"You want to join us, don't you?"

Alessa struggled against the soporific effect of the demon's voice. Her limbs felt like weights were attached to them.

"Wouldn't you like to just lay down and... forget about all this? Leave it all behind?"

The demon appeared to loom closer, but Alessa didn't think it had moved. It seemed to take a monumental effort to focus on anything other than the demon or its voice.

A dull thump behind her broke the spell momentarily; it was Dane, collapsing to the floor. Alessa saw Wynne stagger, trying to hold herself upright.

Alistair looked dully at Alessa, shaking his head slightly and bringing a hand to his temple. "Can't... keep eyes open," he said, each word seeming laboured. "Someone... pinch... me..." His voice trailed off, as if he was on the verge of sleep.

She tried to take a step toward him, but she couldn't make her legs co-operate.

"Resist," Wynne said. "You must resist, else we are all lost..."

Somewhere in the back of Alessa's mind, a voice nagged at her, telling her that Wynne was right. But she was so very tired...

"Why do you fight?" the demon asked, and it seemed like such a reasonable question. "You deserve more... You deserve a rest."

There was a reason why she shouldn't just lay down and rest, but she could no longer remember what it was. All she was aware of was her overwhelming weariness and the demon's voice.

"The world will go on without you."

Nothingness swallowed her up.

* * *

_A/N: As always, thanks to everyone reading this story, especially those who alert, favourite or especially review it. Getting your feedback means more than I can say._

_I hope I didn't make any gaffes with the details of Alistair's armour in this chapter. If I did, please feel free to let me know, so that I can correct it, and also so that I'll know for next time._

_This chapter was posted earlier than usual because I'll be away for a while, which also means the next chapter may be late. Or it may not be. It depends how quickly I can catch up!_


	18. Lost in Dreams

_A/N: I'm putting the rating of this story up to M, to be on the safe side - partly for some language in this chapter, and partly for things to come in later chapters._

_As always, thank you to everyone who is following the story, and especially to those who review. You keep me writing where I might otherwise get distracted or discouraged.

* * *

  
_

**Lost In Dreams**

Alessa looked around at the massive stone fortress surrounding her. Something seemed to be wrong with her memory; she could not recall where she was or how she'd arrived here.

_Am I ill? Did I hit my head?_

She didn't feel any soreness or bruising, nor any discomfort.

_Shouldn't there be others with me?_

Columns stretched ahead on either side of her, and where they ended a ramp led up to a raised stone platform. She could see someone standing there, and she walked in that direction.

As she approached, she felt a shock of recognition. The dark-haired man standing before her was all too familiar to her, and she wondered why she hadn't known him right away.

Duncan.

_This isn't right. Duncan... Duncan is dead._

Uneasily, she pushed away the voice inside. Clearly, Duncan was not dead, he was standing right here, smiling warmly at her.

"Ah, there you are. I'm not disturbing you, am I?" His voice echoed slightly; an effect, no doubt, of the stone walls and columns rising around them.

"Of course not, Duncan. I was just..." She frowned, trying to chase down a memory. "I can't quite seem to remember, actually."

Duncan's smile widened. "I'm sure you were simply deep in thought."

She nodded, relaxing. Of course, that must be it.

"You've been at Weisshaupt for some time now. Do you like it here?"

_Weisshaupt? The Grey Warden stronghold? Is that where I am? _

_Why did I not know that?_

Duncan was watching her quizzically, waiting for her answer.

"Yes, of course. It's a beautiful fortress." She frowned. "But... why are we here? Shouldn't we be in Ferelden, fighting the darkspawn?"

Duncan chuckled. "The darkspawn are gone, remember? You were there, in the last great battle." He looked at her proudly. "It was a triumph for all of us, bringing down the archdemon and setting the underground lairs ablaze."

She nodded. As he said it, it seemed right, and yet... why couldn't she remember such a battle?

She tried to concentrate, and vague images came to her. Fighting against darkspawn, demons, walking corpses. And, always, Alistair at her side, battling alongside her.

The memories drifted away like smoke, leaving a vague aching emptiness.

She frowned. "Where is Alistair? Shouldn't he be here, too?"

Duncan smiled sadly. "Alistair fell in the battle. Surely you remember that? He died with great honour."

_Alistair's... dead?_

Her stomach clenched into a knot..

_No. No, that can't be right. He can't be dead. He can't..._

She shook her head. The thought of Alistair's death, no matter how heroic, was too painful a subject to dwell on. She tried to focus on more immediate matters, but nothing seemed to make sense. "If the darkspawn are gone," she said slowly, "then the Grey Wardens are no longer needed."

"The Grey Wardens shall be keepers of history," Duncan replied. "We shall tell tales and sing songs of a more tumultuous time, that others may rejoice in knowing that that time is past."

Alessa frowned. That didn't seem right, not at all. "No," she protested. "Grey Wardens are warriors, not historians or bards."

Duncan's tone grew angry. "And I suppose you know the Grey Wardens better than I do?" His sudden glare was fierce. "Foolish child. I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?"

"What you offer is complacency, not peace," Alessa retorted, becoming more sure of herself with every passing moment. Something was wrong here, and she needed to find out what.

Duncan's expression turned into a sneer. "It seems only war and death will satisfy you," he snarled. "So be it! Have your war and your darkspawn! May they be your doom!"

He drew his sword and shield and attacked without warning; Alessa barely got her own sword out in time to parry the blow.

_What in the Maker's name...? Duncan would never attack me!_

Shock cleared the clouds from her mind, and memories rushed back. "You're not Duncan," she said calmly. "Duncan is dead. What are you, a demon?"

Duncan, or the thing that looked like him, simply sneered at her and pressed home his attacks. They traded blow for blow, circling around each other to try to gain the advantage. As they moved, she spared brief glances around her; she hadn't noticed before, but there were no exits anywhere. Even the path she had approached from had disappeared.

She was trapped.

"What is this place?" she panted. "And where is Alistair?"

His only reply was to swing his shield fiercely at her, forcing her to give ground. She narrowed her eyes, and renewed her own attack, unleashing a flurry of blows.

She knew that it wasn't really Duncan she was fighting, and yet it was still hard to stop herself from holding back. But she had to get out of here, had to find Alistair, and Wynne – and it seemed clear to Alessa that the only way she would do that was by slaying this imposter. Not only that, but it was all too evident that he would have no qualms about dispatching her.

Summoning all her courage, she feinted with her dagger, and when he blocked it with his shield she spun on her heel, ducking nimbly under his sword and coming up behind him. Before he could turn to face her, she drove her sword into his side, angled up under the ribs towards the heart. The blow struck true; he stared at her in surprise for a moment before falling forwards.

If she hadn't already been sure that this wasn't Duncan, here was the evidence: she could never have defeated the real Duncan so easily.

The moment his body hit the ground, it vanished, leaving her utterly alone.

Breathing hard, she looked around in panic. She'd thought that killing the demon, or whatever that thing had been, would have broken the illusion and allowed a way out, but there were still no exits to be seen.

But then she noticed something she was certain had not been there before: a tiny pedestal near the rear wall. Cautiously, she walked over and peered down at it.

The pedestal was filled with water, which was completely still in spite of the fact that the edge of the pedestal was continuously rotating, with a sound of stone moving against stone. In the water, an image floated, appearing real enough to touch; a pattern of runes, each unique, interconnected with lines. All the runes but two were dark; of those two, each glowed pale blue, and one bore a faint, pulsating circle around it.

Alessa had never seen the runes before, but she could guess the meaning of the circle; it represented where she was now, Weisshaupt. The other glowing rune, then, was surely another, unknown destination – the only one available.

Taking a deep breath, she extended a finger and delicately touched the water where the glowing point was.

oOo

There was no sensation of movement or displacement, no fading out of the fortress around her; suddenly, she was simply... elsewhere.

It was not much of an improvement. Instead of a single, coherent vista, she now seemed to be in a nightmarish landscape made of fragments of buildings, misshapen trees, and twisted growths that looked like roots, yet angled up into the sky. Her gaze following one upwards, she saw chunks of rock, clumps of dried grass and more bits of buildings – even what appeared to be whole islands – floating in the sky above her, where they had no right to be. One particularly large island in the distance seemed to have structures on it; several other islands floated around it, seemingly connected to it by narrow walkways. The longer she gazed on it, the more unsettled she felt; it seemed to almost be calling to her, yet she knew without doubt that it was somewhere she needed to stay far away from.

Hurriedly dropping her eyes, she noted that the earth beneath her feet was dry and cracked, with tufts of grass poking through it here and there. All of it carried a haze, especially at the edges of her vision, and all colour was muted; the whole place had an aura of unreality.

It felt like a dream, she realised, and with that realisation came understanding. This was the Fade, the realm of dreams.

Unconsciously, her gaze flicked back towards that group of floating islands in the distance, and she shuddered. If this was the Fade, was that then the Black City?

She decided it was better not to know.

She dropped her gaze to look ahead of her, and caught her breath.

She was not alone.

For the briefest of moments, she thought the man in the distance might be Alistair, and she started towards him at a run. But she realised her mistake immediately; this man had darker hair, and he wore a mage robe. His face was unfamiliar.

Shaking off her disappointment, she slowed to a walk, cautiously approaching the man. Was this another demon, bent on trapping her with some new trick? Perhaps it was even the same demon, merely wearing a different guise.

The man's eyes widened in alarm as she neared him, and he threw up his hands in front of him as if to keep her at bay. "Who are you? Where did you come from? Are you a demon?"

Before she could reply, he lowered his arms, his expression calming. "No... I see that you're not. You're like me." He studied her a moment. "Congratulations on getting out of the dream you were trapped in." He sounded slightly impressed.

"How do you know about that?" Alessa asked, her need for information overcoming her wariness. "What about my companions? Are they trapped too? Do you know where?"

"You came here with others?" She nodded, and he regarded her with sympathy. "Then yes, they would be trapped." He gestured around them. "The demon traps everything that comes here in a dream. It thinks they can't – or won't – try to leave." He looked back at Alessa, meeting her gaze sombrely. "I thought I'd escaped, too, but I've been wandering these empty, grey spaces for a lifetime."

"Who are you?" Alessa asked. "How did you end up here?"

"My name is Niall." He laughed humourlessly. "I was trying to save the Circle when I encountered the sloth demon. I expect our experiences were similar."

Alessa nodded thoughtfully. "A sloth demon," she mused aloud. "Yes, that makes sense." This was the man she'd seen lying prone at the demon's feet, she realised. Her gaze snapped back to the man. "Wait... you're Niall? Owain mentioned you. He said he gave you the Litany of Adralla."

"Owain helped me greatly." Niall smiled slightly, but his smile slipped as he added, "I don't suppose I'll ever be able to repay him." He sighed. "The Litany was our weapon against the blood mages' domination. But it's too late. Everyone's dead..."

"Not everyone," Alessa said. "How did the blood mages manage to take over so quickly?"

"I don't know," Niall answered, his tone growing lethargic – an effect of being in the sloth demon's domain, she supposed. She would have to be on her guard against that. "They must have been practising in secret," he continued, "even teaching others." His expression darkened. "I knew these people, trusted them..." He shook his head. "The Litany was our only hope of saving the Circle. But now..."

Alessa frowned. "You mustn't lose hope. Help me find my companions, find a way out of here."

"Hope," he scoffed. "This place drains you of hope... of feeling, of life. Of everything." He shook his head. "There is no way out of here. You'd think there might be, but you'd be wrong."

Her eyes narrowed. "I won't accept that. With or without you, I will find a way out. I must."

_I must find Alistair._

He sighed. "You see that pedestal there?" He looked to his left, pointing, and following his gaze Alessa spied a small pedestal, twin to the one that had brought her out of Weisshaupt. "I've studied the runes on it," Niall said. "Runes that signify different islands of the sloth demon's domain." He turned back to Alessa. "I believe the sloth demon to be on the centre island, but you can't get there. The five islands around the centre somehow form a protective ward." He smiled ruefully. "I thought I was getting somewhere when I figured that out, and I went to each island in turn, only to have my hopes dashed." He sighed again. "There's always an obstacle. You'll see the path but be unable to get to it, and it taunts you and drives you mad."

"I have to try," Alessa said. "My companions could be on one of those islands, couldn't they?"

"I... I don't know. There are many dreamers. You might find a way to reach them through the islands... if you're lucky."

Alessa ground her teeth at the man's pessimism. He couldn't help it, she supposed, not if he had succumbed to the sloth demon's influence – but it was frustrating nonetheless. "You mentioned obstacles?"

"Yes... obstacles and mad dream things: a river of flame before a portal, or a door that shows you freedom through a keyhole which no key will fit." He shrugged helplessly. "I once found a passageway smaller than my hand with a mouse going to and fro through it. Silly thing fled before I could question it."

"Question it?" Alessa asked, startled. "Why would you try to question a mouse?"

"Because almost everyone here is a dreamer," Niall explained. "Except for the spirits and the demons, I suppose. Each dreamer may know things another may not. The mouse could have told me what lay beyond the tiny passage, or how to get there." He met Alessa's eyes earnestly. "Even how I might make myself small like him, and crawl through myself. And if one could become small enough to walk one path, perhaps there are similar ways to walk the others."

Alessa nodded, thoughtfully. Here at last was some useful information. "And what about this protective ward?"

Niall shrugged. "I don't know much. I... I think the sloth demon has placed lesser demons on each of the islands. I've seen them. They take different shapes, but they're there." He looked at her fearfully. "Defeating them may be the only way to reach the sloth demon. But you have to get to them first. I..." He dropped his gaze. "I couldn't... I was too afraid to try."

Alessa smiled grimly. "I'm not. I've beaten quite a few demons lately. If I can find them, then I will defeat them." Niall just shook his head doubtfully, and she sighed. "What can you tell me about the sloth demon?"

"Not much." He gave her a wry grin. "You couldn't say we were friends, really." He saw the sour look on her face and hastily added, "Demons have their own hierarchies. They play their own games and mortals serve as... pawns, perhaps even bargaining chips. The demon keeping us here probably rules this entire section of the Fade. It'll not let us go easily, if at all."

"We have to try," Alessa insisted. "I'm not going to just wait around to die."

"Nothing dampens your spirit does it?" Niall shook his head. "I don't know whether to admire or pity you."

Alessa sighed. "I'll be back, Niall."

She moved towards the pedestal, but as she did, a purple shimmer from beyond it caught her eye. In the distance, a pair of the odd roots rose out of the ground, curving inwards to meet each other. The space between them was filled with the purple glow. Uncertainly she approached it, feeling drawn to it; she wasn't sure how she knew, but she had no doubt it was a doorway of some kind, a portal. Its surface rippled gently, and the purple light swirled crazily within it, almost akin to flame.

Hesitantly, she reached out to touch it. The moment her fingers met the portal, she felt a cool tingle, and found herself in a different place.

Different, and yet alike. It was still the same fractured, grey landscape, although the details differed.

She had no time to reflect on this, however; immediately before her stood a demon.

It was facing away from her, its clawed hand raised as if to swipe at something; Alessa heard a faint voice cry out, "I-I just want to leave this place! Help!"

She could see no one there, but instinctively she uttered a battle cry, and the demon's attention turned to her. Almost eagerly, she moved to meet it; as disconcerting as the Fade was, fighting demons was at least something familiar.

She rained a furious flurry of blows on the demon, and almost as soon as it had started, the battle was over, the demon's body disappearing into the dry, cracked ground.

Bewildered, she looked around for the foe the demon had been fighting; an enemy of the demons here was a potential ally. But she could still see no one.

""Th-thank you," a tiny voice quavered, coming from near her feet, and she looked down in astonishment. The voice was coming from a mouse. "But... too late for me..."

The mouse was lying on the ground, twitching and covered in blood. She knelt down to hear it better.

"Kill Yevena," it gasped, its tiny chest heaving with the exertion of speaking. "The demoness that rules here. She protects her master... Sloth..." It whimpered, a shudder racking its body, then continued, "There's a door – a door only demons can see... the key must be in another realm..." To Alessa's surprise, the mouse reached out with one minute paw; an action which somehow seemed far stranger than the fact of it speaking. "Take my power... Save any others trapped in nightmares; kill the demons that guard Sloth."

A little self-consciously, Alessa stretched out a fingertip to touch the mouse's paw, and it nodded its head. "Make my..." Its voice trailed off, and its head slumped; but as the life bled out of it, a strange feeling passed through Alessa, as if she suddenly understood the mouse completely, knew its form and its feeling.

It was just as Niall had said; the mouse hadn't really been a mouse at all, simply another dreamer who had somehow learnt to transform his or her dream form into that of a mouse. And in some way, their dying act had been to transfer that knowledge to her.

Experimentally, she focussed her thoughts on the mouse's form, and as she did, she felt herself changing; shrinking. And as easily as that, she was a mouse.

It was a bizarre sensation. She still felt like herself, could feel her limbs, her armour, even the sword and dagger in her hand; and at the same time, she felt the small furry body around her. She could see the ground from a most unusual angle, could see a whiskered snout in front of her eyes, paws instead of hands. Unsettled, she focussed on her true self, and immediately she was back to normal.

She gasped at the possibilities. Could she transform into anything? A wolf, perhaps, or an eagle? Or a great bear, that would surely have some useful potential. Concentrating as hard as she could, she thought of the form of a bear.

Nothing happened, and she sighed. Of course – that would have been too easy. Whatever knowledge the other dreamer had imparted to her, it allowed her to become a mouse, and nothing else.

What possible use was there in being a mouse?

With another sigh, she turned back to the portal – and found to her dismay that, from this side, the portal was nothing more than a gaping black hole in between some thick roots. There was no sign of any purple light, and nothing that suggested any kind of magic. The doorway was simply... gone.

Alarmed, Alessa cast her gaze around. There was little to be seen; this seemed to be a small outcropping, cut off from all other such islands by a vast nothingness. Walking warily to an edge, she peered down; below there was an unsettling, inky blackness. Breezes drifted upwards, carrying a faint smell of something acrid and unpleasant, and she thought she could almost make out whispers, just beyond the range of hearing. Shuddering, she stepped carefully back.

Looking around again, her gaze fell on a small heap of clay that wasn't quite as haphazard as she'd first thought. Taking a closer look, she realised that it surrounded a small, circular hole that led downwards; a hole just large enough to comfortably accommodate a mouse.

With a smile, she concentrated and transformed into the mouse once more, and padded her way into the hole.

oOo

Another demon awaited at the far end of the little passageway, and Alessa hurriedly transformed herself back in order to despatch it. Out of the corner of her eye, near where the demon had stood, she noticed what seemed to be an ornate door, but when she tried to look at it squarely, it was no longer there. She remembered what the mouse had said about doors only the demons could use; she supposed this must be one of them.

Looking beyond it, she saw another of the purple portals, and walked towards it. Taking a deep breath, she allowed it to transport her once again.

With some relief, she found herself back in the original section of the Fade, with Niall. He looked up in surprise as she reappeared, and his eyes grew wide. "Something happened, didn't it?" He studied her intently. "You look a little different. What happened?" There was a note of eagerness in his voice now that contrasted wildly with his earlier lassitude.

"I became a mouse," Alessa told him, wondering how she could say that so calmly, as if it happened to people all time.

Niall gaped. "Did you? Did it help?" The eagerness was more apparent now; his face become positively animated. "I know I saw the tiny holes. Were you small enough to get through?"

"I was," Alessa nodded, and he looked delighted. She arched her brows at him. "I thought you'd given up. Why so excited?"

"I... I don't know." He looked at her, wide eyed. "You're so much braver than I am. I was so sure it was impossible to get anywhere..."

Alessa smiled. "I told you not to lose hope, didn't I?" He nodded, a little shamefacedly. Hoping to capitalise on his new-found enthusiasm, she added, "I think it's time I tried that pedestal. Do you want to come with me?"

Fear flooded his expression. "I... I don't know if..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Alessa sighed. "All right, Niall. Wait here for me."

As she approached the pedestal, she noticed another odd door from the corner of her eye; like the other one, as soon as she tried to look directly at it, there was no longer anything there. Shaking her head, she turned her back on it to remove the distracting image from the periphery of her vision, and focussed instead on the pedestal.

In addition to the rune representing Weisshaupt, and the one that she now knew to represent the area of the Fade she was currently in, four new runes now glowed in the pedestal. The lines joining them to each other and to her present location were now also luminescent, forming a pentagon.

With nothing to distinguish between them, she chose a rune at random, took a deep breath, and touched it.

oOo

Once again, the relocation was disconcertingly abrupt. This time, she found herself in a large room of what seemed to be some kind of castle or fortress. She wondered briefly if she had managed to transport herself back to Weisshaupt, but then she realised the architecture was quite different. It all had the same air of unreality to it as the area she'd just left, leaving her in no doubt that she was still in the Fade. Angles didn't quite seem to meet as they should, and some parts of the wall seemed to be warped, almost as if they had been partially melted.

Bodies littered the floor; men wearing a style of armour she didn't recognise. All had met a bloody end, and in some cases the weapons that had killed them were left impaled in them; wicked looking spears, and rough, jagged swords. Alessa shuddered; she'd seen their like before, in the hands of the darkspawn she'd faced in the Korcari Wilds and on the road since.

Ahead of her, she spied a door and another mouse hole. Making a mental note to come back to the mouse hole later, she headed for the door; she wasn't going to achieve anything staying in this room.

The door led onto an empty corridor, and Alessa warily made her way down it. At the first corner, her caution proved to be well-founded; a pair of hurlocks spied her, and rushed towards her, roaring.

Without Alistair at her side, keeping them both at bay long enough to take them down proved challenging, but not impossible. Wiping her blades on one of the bodies to clean off the dark, sticky darkspawn ichor, she continued on, keeping her weapons at the ready.

She fought her way past several more darkspawn, hurlock and genlock alike, through a twisting maze of corridors. All the corridors but one were dead ends, and the only one that wasn't, was blocked by a fierce blaze, the flames reaching higher than her head. The heat coming from them was intense. There was no way past.

This, then, was what Niall had meant about obstacles. She turned back and retraced her steps. Returning to the room she had started from, she transformed herself into a mouse, and entered the mouse hole.

She emerged into a room with three more darkspawn, and hastily resumed her normal form to fight them. One was an emissary, and Alessa charged him, knowing she could ill afford to leave him standing to cast spells while the she fought the others.

This fight was the hardest yet, and several times she felt their blades bite into her; yet, when the fight was over and the darkspawn slain, her wounds seemed vanish. Alessa was grateful for the small mercy, although she knew she could not allow it to make her complacent; injuries might not be permanent here, but she felt certain that death would be.

She made her way through more corridors, rooms and mouse holes, finally emerging from a tiny passageway into a larger room than any she'd encountered so far. Tendrils of something that looked like mist or smoke but didn't quite seem to be either drifted around, partially obscuring her view. She was on the point of transforming back from mouse to human to get a better look, when she heard a voice. Creeping closer, she saw a young man clad in templar armour standing against one of the pillars, holding himself stiffly, arms tight against his sides. "They won't find me here," he was muttering, over and over. He seemed to be somehow less solid than his surroundings; Alessa almost fancied she could see the pillar through him.

'They' proved to be a handful of darkspawn that had, in fact, found him; they were converging on him from several directions. Alessa hastily transformed and charged towards them, her battle cry ringing out. The templar cried out in shock, but then followed her gaze to see the darkspawn closing in. He gulped, but drew his sword and readied his shield, falling in beside her to attack them.

The fight was bloody and protracted, and Alessa found herself wishing more than once that it was Alistair fighting with her instead of the unknown and unskilled templar; but what he lacked in combat experience he at least made up for in his willingness to face his foes head on, in spite of his earlier attempts to hide. He used his shield more effectively than his sword, blocking the darkspawn swords and providing a sufficient distraction for Alessa to be able to press home her own attacks relatively unchallenged.

Eventually they prevailed, and the young templar turned to her gratefully. "They're gone! You... you did it. You killed them." His smile faded and his eyes widened. "But not all – their leaders are behind the unbreakable door." He gestured toward a corner of the room, and then took a step toward Alessa, reaching out towards her. "I give you my wisdom; it will let you _see_." He touched her shoulder, and she felt an odd feeling wash over her, as she had with the mouse. The templar smiled. "And now, I wake..."

He vanished.

Alessa pondered his parting words. Clearly, he had imparted some knowledge to her, just as the mouse had, but what? The ability to turn into a templar? That didn't seem terribly useful, except perhaps against emissaries..

She concentrated on the image of the templar's face, and his words. As she did, she felt herself changing once more, but this time the transformation was quite unexpected; her arms, held out before her, suddenly seemed vague and insubstantial – she could see _through_ them.

In shock, she stumbled back, and found that she was no longer walking, but rather floating across the ground. The shock increased as she realised just what the transformation was.

She was a spirit.

Gripped by a sudden panic that this wasn't a transformation at all, that she might actually be dead, she tried to change back to her normal self. Nothing happened, and her panic rose, threatening to overwhelm her. Her breath came in quick gasps, and she shook.

The realisation that she could still feel herself gasping and shaking slowly sank in and she made an effort to calm herself. Once her terror receded, she found she was able to transform to and fro with no more difficulty than the mouse form had presented.

Pondering on the use of this new ability, she turned her gaze towards the door the templar had indicated; an unbreakable door, he'd said.

Would the ability to turn into a spirit allow her to simply pass through it?

Sadly, that proved not to be the case. Evidently, yet another ability would be required to pass this particular obstacle.

Switching back to her normal form, she looked around the room again, and to her surprise she found a small pedestal had appeared, just like the others. With a slight shrug, she walked to it, and used it to return to Niall.

He looked up eagerly at her approach. "Did you find anything new?"

Alessa nodded. "I did... although I'm not sure yet what use it's going to be. Here, let me show you." She concentrated, and morphed into the spirit form. Niall gasped.

With a faint smile, Alessa turned back to the pedestal, catching sight once again of the mysterious door beyond it. But this time the door was clear and solid, and it did not disappear when she looked right at it.

It seemed the spirit form might be useful for something after all.

Drifting towards the door, she stretched out a transparent hand and touched it. Rather than swinging open, as she'd expected, it acted like the portals; her surroundings faded out, and a new area faded in.

A demon stood before her, by her appearance a twin to the desire demon that had been tempting the poor templar back in the Circle tower. This one, however, did not seem so inclined toward conversation; with a furious shriek, she launched herself at Alessa.

Acting on pure instinct, Alessa raised her hands in front of her; to her shock, ice formed around them and lanced out towards the demon, freezing her in place. The spirit form had more than one benefit, it seemed. Grinning, Alessa transformed back to herself, and attacked the immobilised demon before the spell could wear off.

As the demon died, Alessa felt a distinct tremor in the dry ground beneath her feet, as if the Fade was somehow rearranging itself. Nervously she looked around, half-expecting the ground to vanish beneath her feet, but the tremor passed without any incident.

Using the spirit form once more to return back through the door, she was met by an excited Niall. "What did you do?" he demanded. "I felt something, like the earth was shifting – except it probably wasn't the earth..."

"I... I think I killed one of the demons controlling the shield around the sloth demon," Alessa said slowly.

His eyes widened. "You did? You managed to get to it? I... I didn't think it was possible." He looked at her with open admiration. "Killing that demon must have opened something. Perhaps... perhaps the pieces are falling into place now."

"Perhaps they are," she agreed. She walked to the pedestal, hoping to see some confirmation that something had changed; to her intense disappointment, it was almost the same as before. No new runes had lit up; the only change was that the line joining her present location to the darkened rune in the centre of the pattern was now glowing faintly.

Evidently, she was going to have to find and kill more demons before those additional, dark locations were open to her. Glancing over her shoulder and giving Niall a reassuring smile, she chose a new rune from the pedestal.

oOo

Once again, she found herself in a different place. The room was filled with bookshelves, and a fire burned unchecked in one corner. The exit from the room was clear of the fire, however, and Alessa made her way towards it.

This time, instead of darkspawn, she was attacked by templars wreathed in flame. Gritting her teeth against the blistering heat and the pain, she despatched them, thankful for the fact that the burns she sustained were, like the other wounds she'd taken in the Fade, wiped away after each fight.

Working her way through a maze of corridors and stairwells, she found many of the passages blocked by fire; eventually, after ascending several levels in what had to be a tower of some kind, she came to what initially seemed to be a dead end, until she spotted the mouse hole at the end.

Emerging from its far end, she found another templar, but this one was free of fire, and he did not attack her.

Another dreamer, perhaps?

He didn't seem to notice her immediately; his brow was furrowed in concentration, and he was muttering to himself. As she drew closer, she heard him saying, "Must... control... anger..."

"Are you all right?" Alessa asked hesitantly.

"But it bubbles," he continued, and his face twisted in agony. "It burns!" Fire rose up around him, and he turned his gaze on Alessa at last. "You must die!" he snarled, launching himself at her.

She parried his initial assault, and tried to disarm him, but his attacks were too frenzied. Pure rage burned in his eyes, matching the flames that burned around him. He left her no option but to kill him before he could kill her. Feinting with her dagger, she drove her sword through his chest.

As he fell to the ground, the fury left his eyes. "The anger..." he gasped in a ragged whisper, "fading... I am free!" He looked at her with gratitude and stretched out a hand towards her. "Take Rhagos' power; use it and _burn_ him... burn them all. He guards Sloth, he bars the way."

Alessa controlled the impulse to flinch from the dreamer's fiery touch, and grasped his hand firmly. For a moment, the fire seemed to burn into her, passing through her entire body, and then it was gone.

"You must... destroy the door," the templar groaned. "Other dreamers, other powers... only way..." His head fell back, and he spoke no more.

Having an idea this time what to expect, she focussed on the templar and his words, and on the idea of burning. Sure enough, she found herself wreathed in flame, just as he had been, but this fire did not harm her; nor, she suspected, would any other fire while she was in this form.

But why had he forced her to kill him? She clenched her fists convulsively; she could have saved the fool, freed him from his dream, if he'd only let her, if only he hadn't been so stupid...

Recalling the dreamer's words before he attacked her, she hurriedly slipped back to her own form, feeling the anger ease away immediately. She would have to be careful about using this form, lest that rage overwhelm her as it had him.

Looking around, she found another of the unbreakable doors. _You must destroy the door_, the templar had said. _Other dreamers, other powers_. So there were yet more abilities to be discovered.

Unsurprisingly, another pedestal had also appeared, and she used it to transport herself to yet another unexplored area of the Fade.

oOo

This time, it appeared she was in a mage's dream; as she made her way through hushed hallways and rooms filled with magical apparatus and books, crazed mages harried her, attacking at their first glimpse of her. Fortunately, they all seemed to favour spells that damaged rather than incapacitated, allowing her to use her blades freely; the mages were no match for those.

One larger group almost caught her out when one of their number cast a fireball, but the flames building around his hands gave her just enough warning to transform herself into the fire form. Though the blast knocked her off her feet, it did her no harm; which was more than could be said for the mage that cast it, as he killed himself and two of his fellow mages outright, and left the remaining two stunned and badly injured. Alessa quickly finished them off before they could cast a more effective spell.

A thought struck her, and she morphed back into the fire form. Experimentally, she focussed on the flames enveloping her, and found that she was able to increase their intensity, and then direct them.

She could cast fireballs of her own.

As she ventured deeper, she found that the mages were not only suicidally reckless; many were actively attacking each other as well as her. She made the most of the distraction this offered.

The further she got, the more nightmarish this particular Fade island became; not only were the inhabitants crazed, but her surroundings became less and less believable. Bookcases leaned at impossible angles, sometimes positioned halfway up a wall instead of standing on the floor as they ought to be. Chairs floated in mid-air, and tables sloped into the floor. Half-expecting the ground to disappear beneath her at any moment, Alessa carefully picked her way through the craziness, trying to ignore the disturbing sights around her.

She was growing decidedly anxious; this was the fourth island she'd explored now, with no sign of any more demons, and worse, no sign of Alistair, or Wynne. The confidence that she'd gained from defeating the first demon and learning to change into different forms was slowly slipping away, try as she might to hold on to it.

Where was Alistair? What if he was suffering in a nightmare of his own, just like the dreamers she'd found in the darkspawn-infested castle, or the burning tower? What if she couldn't find him in time?

She set her jaw grimly, pushing the fear down. She couldn't afford to think like that, she just had to keep looking. She would find him, whatever it took.

Ascending to the next level, she discovered what seemed to be a huge humanoid creature made of stone; it was being attacked by several Chantry priestesses. Alessa had seen drawings of such creatures in story books, but never had she seen one for real – although, of course, 'real' was somewhat subjective at present. Nonetheless, she recognised it as a golem.

Three of the Chantry priestesses broke off their attack on the golem as Alessa approached, and launched themselves at her instead; she quickly despatched them, and then looked round to find that the golem had taken care of the other two. She held her weapons ready, waiting for the golem's attack, but to her surprise it morphed instead into a mage, who smiled at her.

She had found the dreamer in whose nightmare she walked.

"Thank you," the mage said fervently. "It is time for this dream to come to an end." He reached out and touched her hand. "I give you my strength. It will be of little use against the demon that rules here, but perhaps it will help in other realms." Once again, she felt something flow through her.

"Find a way to kill all the demon lords to open the way to Sloth," the mage admonished her, a note of desperation in his voice. "Free us all from this nightmare!" Then he vanished, as the first templar had.

This time, the new ability came as no surprise; turning into a golem just as the mage had, she thrilled at the feeling of strength. It came at a price, of course; for someone used to being light on her feet, the lumbering gait of the golem and its inflexibility of movement were maddening; she would not choose to fight this way.

Undoubtedly, it would serve to break down those 'unbreakable' doors, though. And, as chance would have it, one such door stood in front of her.

Using the golem form, she drew her arm back, and punched out her fist towards the door; it splintered into dozens of fragments, leaving the way clear. Beyond it lay a small antechamber, with another door at the end.

Morphing back to her normal self, Alessa readied her weapons and opened the second door.

Finally, it seemed she had found another of her targets; a demon, in the form of an abomination, sailed towards her with a threatening hiss. Quickly she made use of the spirit form to freeze it in place, and then launched a frenzied attack on it with her blades.

She was getting ever more frustrated at being unable to locate her companions, and here was a perfect target to take her rage out on.

The demon didn't stand a chance.

As it fell, Alessa felt the floor shake beneath her feet, and she nodded to herself in satisfaction.

Returning to the room with the pedestal, she examined it eagerly; another line leading into the central rune was now luminescent, as were lines leading from the current area towards two of the outer runes. But still those runes remained dark.

Grinding her teeth in frustration, she reminded herself that she now possessed the abilities to pass all the obstacles she had come across in the other zones; flame barriers, spirit doors and unbreakable doors. Perhaps it was time to retrace her steps.

oOo

Returning to the darkspawn-infested castle, she found a huge hall filled with darkspawn behind one of the massive doors; switching forms rapidly, she used a combination of freezing and fireballs to soften them up and divide their numbers, then finished them off with her blades.

At the far end of the hall was another door, and beyond this, she found the third demon – this one in the form of an ogre. Electing to match it for size and brute force, she assumed the golem form, and pummelled it into the ground.

Once again, the ground shook beneath her, and she returned to the pedestal; more lines glowed, but still the remaining runes stayed dark. She bit back a scream of frustration, and moved on.

The demon in the burning tower proved to be even easier to get to; an unbreakable door and a flame barrier blocked the way, but these were no longer any problem for her. The demon was swiftly felled, and this time, it had a more substantial effect; finally, one of the outer runes was glowing.

Her heart pounding, Alessa steeled herself, and touched it.


	19. Nightmares

**Nightmares**

For a moment, Alessa thought she had managed to free them without even confronting the sloth demon; she seemed to be back in the Circle tower. But then she saw the faint shimmer in the air, felt the familiar aura of unreality; this was still the Fade.

She heard a woman's sob from the next room and darted towards the doorway, only to come to a halt at the threshold. Her hand went to her mouth.

Wynne stood before her, weeping; she was surrounded by the dead, mangled bodies of her fellow mages. With a pang of distress, Alessa recognised the red-haired mage that had been with Wynne in the apprentice quarters among them. Petra, Wynne had called her.

This, then, must be Wynne's dream. And, like those of the other dreamers she had encountered in the Fade, it seemed to be a nightmare.

"Wynne?" Alessa said softly, walking towards her.

The older woman looked round at her, grief-stricken. "Maker forgive me. I failed them all. They died and I did not stop it." Her voice was raw.

Alessa swallowed, feeling intensely uncomfortable. She was seeing the other woman's own dark fears, made real in an undeniable way, and she could not imagine that Wynne would be pleased to have her bear witness to them..

But there would be time later for feeling awkward. Wynne did not seem to realise that she was dreaming, and, drawing from her own experience, Alessa surmised that breaking through the illusion was key to freeing Wynne from the trap.

"This isn't real, Wynne. You mustn't believe it."

"How can I disbelieve what I see? What I hear and smell and... feel?" The mage's voice shook. "Death. Can you not see it? It's all around us."

"I see it," Alessa confirmed, "but it's not _real_. We're in the Fade, Wynne. This is a dream."

Wynne didn't seem to hear her. She looked down at one of the mages, tears falling from her eyes. "Why was I spared, if not to help them? What use is my life now that I have failed in the task that was given me?" She looked back up at Alessa. "Leave me to my grief. I shall bury their bones, scatter their ashes to the four winds, and mourn their passing until I too am dead." Her tone was hollow.

"You have to fight this feeling!" Alessa cried in alarm. What if she couldn't reach the other woman through this wall of grief and despondency?

Wynne's eyes narrowed in anger. "Your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead strikes me as being utterly inappropriate." She pointed a finger at Alessa, shaking in sudden fury. "And where were you when this happened? I trusted you as an ally, and you were nowhere to be found."

Alessa flinched in surprise from the woman's ire. Still, anger was surely better than despair.

"Wynne, please... you must believe me. I am the only thing here that is real. Focus on me. Everything else here is an illusion – you _must_ ignore it."

The sincerity in Alessa's tone seemed to reach the mage, and she frowned. "It is... difficult to focus. It feels as though something is... stopping me from concentrating." She looked puzzled. "I have never had so much trouble..." She looked at Alessa. "Perhaps... some time away from this place will help me think clearly."

"Yes!" Relief filled Alessa. "That sounds like a good idea."

Before either of them could move, one of the dead mages, a dark haired elf, suddenly rose to his feet. Wynne cried out in horror and backed away from him.

"Don't leave us, Wynne!" the elf implored her. "We don't want to be alone."

"Holy Maker," Wynne said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Stay away, foul creature!"

Alessa inched forward, aiming to put herself between Wynne and the elf. He saw her motion and turned his head towards her, a slight sneer on his face.

"I told you this wasn't real," Alessa said, drawing her weapons. Her words were for Wynne, but she kept her eyes locked on the elf. "It's a demon, it's controlling the dream. We'll have to defeat it before we can leave."

The elf ignored Alessa, turning back to the mage. "Stay, Wynne," he pleaded. "Sleep soundly in the comforting embrace of the earth. Do not fight it. You belong here, with us."

Wynne turned her head away. "N-no. Not yet." Her voice trembled. "My task is not yet done... it is not time yet."

"Come," the elf urged. "Come away to your rest..."

Wynne stood a little straighter and met the elf's gaze, holding her staff out before her. "I said no."

The elf snarled wordlessly and raised his own staff, but before he could cast any spell, Alessa charged him, her sword raised. He swung his staff round to block her swing, and the force of the blow splintered it. The elf shrieked in fury, and Wynne took advantage of his distraction, casting a glyph on the ground at his feet that rooted him to the spot.

Alessa raised her sword and swung it viciously at the elf, but to her horror, it passed through him as if through smoke, while he simply smirked at her. She muttered a curse under her breath and slammed the sword back into its scabbard. The dagger she held out towards the other woman, pommel first. "I'm sorry, Wynne. I think you have to be the one do it."

Wynne stared at the dagger in silence for a moment, then accepted it reluctantly. With a deep sigh, she stepped towards the immobilised elf and plunged the dagger into his heart. The elf vanished before he hit the ground, as did the other bodies around them.

Her hand shaking, Wynne carefully handed the dagger back to Alessa, who sheathed it. "Is it over?" the mage asked. Alessa nodded, and Wynne sighed in relief. "Thank the Maker for you." Her expression suddenly turned to alarm and she looked around wildly. "Wait… what's happening?"

A strange light, like ghostly flames, bathed Wynne, and the mage looked at Alessa in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"What?" Alessa asked, startled. "I'm right h—"

Before she could finish the words, the other woman vanished.

"Wynne!" she cried out, uselessly. Her voice echoed dully from the tower walls. She was once more alone.

She let out a yell of frustration, balling her hands into fists as the emptiness seemed to close in around her. Sweeping the room with a desperate gaze, she noted that a pedestal had appeared in one corner; Alessa used it to return to the raw Fade, thinking that perhaps Wynne had been teleported there, as she herself had when she broke free of her own dream. But Niall remained the only person in sight, and he assured her that he had seen no one but Alessa herself.

Hoping against hope that Wynne was now free of the Fade altogether, Alessa had little choice but to continue on.

There was still one rune on the pentagon that she not yet tried.

oOo

The new area proved to be a disorienting jumble of disconnected rooms and corridors, linked by spirit doors, mouse holes, and shimmering portals similar to the one she'd encountered in the raw Fade. It took Alessa far longer to get her bearings than it did to despatch the arcane horrors and abominations she met along the way; she began to feel as if she was caught in an endless loop, going round in circles between what seemed to be the same three sections.

After emerging from what she had been certain was a previously untried portal to find herself in a familiar room for the third time, she sank to the floor, burying her head in her hands. Fear gnawed at her, that she was caught in a new trap from which there was no escape. She felt the absence of her companions even more keenly now than she had before discovering Wynne, and in a dark corner of her mind, voices whispered of eternal solitude.

She began to understand how Niall's fears had overcome him.

Reminding herself sternly that Alistair was trapped somewhere in the Fade, perhaps depending on her to find her way back to him and free him, she forced herself to shake off the black mood and continue onwards.

At length, she stumbled on the portal that led to another part of the dream, and there she found the final demon. It was another desire demon, and when she saw Alessa, she laughed delightedly. "Catch me if you can!" she cried, and ran towards a tiny hole in the corner of the room, changing into a mouse at the last moment.

Alessa determinedly followed suit, scrabbling with tiny mouse paws to squeeze through the constricting passageway. She emerged to find the demon standing in the middle of a circular room, smiling wickedly. "The game is over, mortal," she laughed.

Dropping the mouse form, Alessa shifted her blades in hand, assuring herself of a firm grip, and gave the demon a grim smile. "Not yet, it isn't."

The demon's confidence slipped as Alessa charged her, unleashing her frustration into a furious flurry of blows. Ducking into a roll to avoid the demon's claws, she came up behind the creature and slashed her dagger viciously across the back of the demon's knee, eliciting a shriek of rage, and leaving the demon unable to move as quickly as Alessa. After that, it was a foregone conclusion.

A loud rumble shook the room, and spying a pedestal at the far side, Alessa raced to it.

Finally, all the runes were glowing.

oOo

Leaving the central rune alone for the moment, she picked another of the outer runes, praying that this one would lead her to Alistair.

Instead, she found herself in a pleasant summer meadow, and lying in the lush grass in front of her, apparently sound asleep, was her mabari hound.

"Dane!" Alessa knelt beside the hound. He was making soft huffing noises as he slept, and twitching his legs as if in the midst of some exciting dog dream.

"Wake up, you silly mutt," she muttered affectionately, shaking him awake. He whined quietly, and opened his eyes halfway. "Wake up," she repeated, more forcefully, and the hound staggered tiredly to his feet, shaking his head. Becoming more alert by the second, he barked once at Alessa, and then began to prance around, barking excitedly.

"It's good to see you too," she smiled.

Dane barked once more, and then the ghostly flames enveloped him, and he disappeared with a startled whimper.

With a heavy sigh, Alessa returned to the pedestal. Only one more outer rune remained; surely this last one _must _be where she would find Alistair.

oOo

This time, she found herself in a city street. Although it had the expected air of unreality, she was nevertheless aware of the sights, sounds and smells of a bustling market district around her.

She was back in Denerim.

She could see no sign of Alistair, but, looking around, she saw that one of the surrounding houses seemed more substantial than the rest. Her lip curled in distaste as she recognised it.

It was his sister's house.

_Of course. What else would Alistair's nightmare centre around, but that shrew of a sister who disappointed him so badly?_

Setting her jaw, she strode over to the house and knocked firmly on the door.

Goldanna herself opened it, and Alessa tensed herself for a stream of vitriol, but to her shock the woman smiled pleasantly at her. "Yes? Can I help you?" She wiped her hands on her apron; they were covered in flour, Alessa saw. Two children – a bright-eyed boy, red-haired like his mother, and a pretty little girl with blonde curls – crowded behind her, gaping in awe at the armoured woman standing on their doorstep.

"I'm... uh... here to see Alistair?" Alessa said uncertainly. This pleasant woman seemed utterly unlike the Goldanna she had met with Alistair.

Indeed, this whole situation seemed quite unlike Wynne's nightmare, or her own.

The woman's smile widened. "Of course! Please, come in."

Alessa hesitantly crossed the threshold, as the woman turned and called down the short hallway, "Brother! You have a guest."

"I do?"

Alessa's heart skipped a beat at the sound of the familiar voice. It felt like an eternity since she'd last heard it.

Alistair emerged from a room down the hall, and his face lit up in delight as he caught sight of Alessa. "Hey! It's great to see you again!" He strode down the hallway, beaming. He was wearing a simple tunic and pants, which looked odd on him to Alessa's eyes; she was used to seeing him in armour. He pulled her into a hug, and for a moment she clung to him, giving in to her relief at having found him. "I was just thinking about you," he said, his voice full of warmth. "Isn't that a marvellous coincidence?"

"Alistair..."

He released her and carried on, oblivious to her attempt to interrupt him. "You remember Goldanna, of course." He smiled at the copper-haired woman, putting an arm familiarly round her shoulder, and she smiled back at him. "These are her children," he added, grinning down at the boy and girl. "And there's more about... somewhere." He chuckled and turned back to Alessa, glowing with happiness. "We're one big happy family, at long last!"

Alessa gaped at him, lost for words. She'd never seen him so happy, so... at peace.

Unexpectedly, the thought occurred to her that it made him look incredibly handsome..

She remembered how much he had wanted to meet Goldanna, and how distraught he had been by his sister's rejection of him. Realisation dawned on her: this wasn't a nightmare at all; it was a dream of a better life, a life without darkspawn, without fighting.

And, apparently, without her.

The thought tore into her like a rusty blade, but she pushed it away. She had to free Alistair from this trap. Nothing else mattered.

She swallowed, wondering how to approach this. How could she convince him that this was just a dream, when he clearly wanted so very much for it to be real?

She had to make him see it for what it was. But would he believe her?

"You seem very... content," she said, stalling for time.

"I am," he agreed happily, ushering her into a small sitting room where he motioned her towards a small, comfortable looking couch. Goldanna and the two children followed them into the room as he took a seat beside Alessa, and the little girl ran to Alistair, pleading to be picked up. Laughing, he swung her up to perch on his knee. "I'm happier than I've been my entire life. Isn't that strange?" He chuckled quietly. "I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn't. This does."

His words wrenched at Alessa's heart. How could she get through to him that this wasn't real, when she was a part of the life that made him so unhappy?

"I'm overjoyed to have my little brother back," Goldanna said. "I'll never let him out of my sight again!"

Alessa turned to look at the woman, hearing the slight edge to her voice that made her words seem almost a threat; Goldanna, or the demon impersonating her, met her gaze coldly.

Alistair didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss with Goldanna's tone, and when he glanced up at his sister, she was all smiles again.

Alessa pasted a false smile on her face. "I'm afraid you may have to; I need to borrow your brother, just for a little while. We..." She hesitated, unsure if Alistair's sense of duty would be enough to get him out of the house, and away from Goldanna. But she had no idea what else to try. "We have Grey Warden business to attend to."

Alistair looked at Alessa uneasily. "I... don't think I'll be coming." He shook his head. "I don't want to spend my life fighting, only to end up dead in a pit along with rotting darkspawn corpses." Sadness darkened his eyes. "I don't want that for you, either. Won't you just stay? Here, with me?" He took her hand, looking earnestly into her eyes.

She closed them, allowing herself, just for a moment, to contemplate simply staying here with him in his dream.

_No more Blight, no more darkspawn, no more insane quests, no more unfair responsibilities resting on our shoulders._

When Duncan had presented much the same scenario in her own dream, it had seemed utterly wrong. But here, in this oddly homely place, with Alistair...

It was a surprisingly tempting thought.

She choked back a sob. It wasn't real, and to pretend it was for even a moment was to court disaster. And they had an obligation to the Wardens, to Ferelden. They couldn't simply give up.

"Alessa?" His hand tightened around hers in concern.

"Well, Alistair?" Goldanna's voice intruded, and Alessa's eyes flew open. "Is your friend staying for supper?"

"Say you'll stay," Alistair urged, smiling again. "Goldanna's a great cook. Maybe she'll make her mince pie."

He looked enquiringly at his sister, and she laughed. "Of course, dear brother. Anything for you."

Alistair turned back to Alessa triumphantly. "There. You _have_ to stay for supper, it's decided." He regarded her eagerly. "You can, can't you?"

Alessa shook her head and drew in a shaky breath. "I can't, Alistair. I can't stay, and you can't either."

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "What do you mean? You're acting really strangely, you know."

"You have to get away from here," she begged him. "This isn't real, it's a trick!"

Alistair looked even more confused. "What are you talking about?"

Alessa took his other hand and leaned towards him, speaking earnestly. "Alistair... please just _think_ about this. Don't you remember how your sister acted when we visited before? She wasn't nice to you, Alistair, she was a bitch!"

"Hey!" Alistair frowned. "That's a little harsh." He smiled at Goldanna. "Anyway, that was all just a misunderstanding. It's water under the bridge now."

Alessa almost growled in frustration. "Please, Alistair," she begged. "_Think_! Think about how you got here. Think about when we were last together." She trembled. "Think _carefully_."

He sighed heavily. "All right, if it makes you happy. I..." He frowned. "It's a little fuzzy." He shook his head in bewilderment. "That's strange."

"Alistair," Goldanna said soothingly. "Come and have some tea."

He shook his head again. "No." He frowned harder, and his brow furrowed in concentration. "Wait... I remember a... tower?" He looked at Alessa, his eyes widening. "The Circle... it was under attack... "

"Yes," Alessa breathed.

"There were demons." He sighed and shook his head. "That's all I really remember."

"What about the sloth demon?" Alessa urged. "Do you remember that? It trapped us in the Fade. That's where we are now, in the Fade."

"Wait... are you saying... this is a dream?" Alistair shook his head. "But it's so real..."

"Of course it's real," Goldanna interrupted. "Now wash up before supper, and I—"

Alistair lifted the little girl off his knee, setting her gently back down on the ground, and stood up. "Something doesn't feel quite right here." He looked at Alessa as she she got to her feet beside him. "I... think I have to go."

Alessa breathed a sigh of relief, and held out her hand to him. "Yes, let's go."

"No!" Goldanna's voice deepened, taking on the all-too-familiar demonic timbre. She got to her feet as well, her eyes narrowed, her face contorting into a snarl. "He is ours now, and I'd rather see him dead than free!"

Her fingers extended into wicked looking claws, and she walked menacingly towards them. The two children transformed into rage demons, falling in behind Goldanna.

"N-no!" Alistair's shocked cry echoed around the room. "Goldanna?"

"She's not your sister, Alistair," Alessa warned. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. She's a demon. And... you're probably going to have to kill her to get out of this dream."

He looked horrified, but nodded, swallowing. She held out her sword towards him, and with only a moment's hesitation, he took it, and met Goldanna's attack head on.

Alessa did her best to keep the two rage demons occupied, leaving Alistair free to concentrate on the demon wearing his sister's face. The close quarters hampered them, but the demons were equally hindered, and Alessa and Alistair had the advantage of knowing each other's fighting habits. Even though Alistair was without his shield and armour, and Alessa was without her sword, they managed, just barely, to prevail.

Alistair stared silently at the spot where the demon pretending to be his sister had fallen and vanished, allowing the sword to slip from his hand and clatter to the floor. Alessa put a hand on his arm, and felt him trembling. "Alistair? Are you all right?"

"I... I can't believe it," he whispered hollowly. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "How did I not see this earlier?"

"We're in the Fade," Alessa said, shrugging. "It seems to affect your perceptions, make you more susceptible to suggestion." She swallowed. "And it seemed to be something you very much wanted to believe in."

Alistair looked uncomfortable. "Yes... uh, well. Try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was." He coughed. "Can we go now?"

The ghostly flames began to weave around him, and he looked startled. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Alistair!" Alessa reached out towards him, but her hand passed through his like it was smoke. "No!"

"What's happening to me?" he asked plaintively. "Hey!"

He was gone.

It was almost more than Alessa could bear; to have lost him once was bad enough, but to find him and then lose him again?

It felt like part of her had been ripped out.

She should have expected this – no, she _had_ expected it, after the same thing had happened to Wynne and Dane. She just hadn't expected it to hurt so much..

Taking a deep breath and brushing away a tear, she picked up her sword and strode back to the pedestal. Praying silently to the Maker that he had found his way out of the Fade, she used the pedestal one last time, selecting the glowing rune at the very centre of the pattern.

oOo

The central island seemed much like the raw Fade where she had met Niall, and standing in the middle of it was the familiar form of the sloth demon. Alessa approached it, eager to put an end to its cruel games.

"What do we have here?" the demon drawled, sounding amused. "A rebellious minion? An escaped slave?" It laughed. "My, my... but you do have some gall. But playtime is over. You all have to go back now."

_All?_

"Oh!" a familiar voice spoke behind her, and Alessa whirled round. "There you are! You just disappeared."

It was Alistair, and beside him were Wynne and Dane. She felt her eyes filling with tears of relief that she blinked away. She smiled and nodded at them, resisting the urge to throw her arms around Alistair; there was a demon to be dealt with, first. She turned back to face it.

Beside her, Dane growled fiercely at the demon, his hackles raised.

"You will not hold us, demon." Wynne said, her voice steely. "We found each other in this place, and you cannot stand against us."

"If you go back quietly," the demon said, its tone one of persuasion and reason, "I'll do better this time. I'll make you _much_ happier."

Alessa glanced at Alistair, and found him looking back at her. He was once again in his armour, and he held his sword and shield ready for battle. She smiled faintly at him, and then faced the demon squarely. "I'll make my own happiness, thank you."

"Can't you think about someone other than yourself?" the demon protested. "I'm hurt, so very, very hurt."

"Sorry," Alessa said, tightening her grip on her blades. "But I rather think I'm done talking."

"You wish to battle _me_?" the demon said incredulously. "So be it... you will learn to bow to your betters, mortal!"

"We'll see," retorted Alessa, and she moved in to the attack, with Alistair and Dane on either side of her.

The sloth demon's boast was not an idle one; it was a much more fearsome opponent than any of the other demons Alessa had encountered in the Fade. And even in battle, it seemed it was not done playing games with them; each time Alessa thought they were prevailing against it, the demon would change into another form, renewing its attacks afresh.

But it lacked the one thing that Alessa and her companions had: teamwork. It could not attack both Alessa and Alistair at once, and whichever one of them it focussed on, the other would sweep around and attack its flank, while Dane tore ferociously at limbs and flesh. Wynne stood back and healed the worst of their hurts, and when her healing was not needed she cast spells to reinvigorate them, enabling them to keep up with the demon.

Alessa threw all of her rage and frustration into her attacks; here, finally, was the creature that had kept her from her friends; had forced her to search desperately for them; had tormented them all with nightmares and temptations.

She intended to make it pay.

oOo

Like all the others before it, the sloth demon's corpse vanished as it hit the ground. Breathing heavily, Alistair grinned at Alessa in shared triumph, but as she returned the grin his gaze shifted to look behind her, and his eyes narrowed.

Whirling to meet an expected enemy, Alessa instead saw Niall standing a short distance away. "You defeated the demon," he said, disbelief and wonder in his voice. "I never thought..."

With a smile, Alessa moved towards Niall. "It's all right," she murmured over her shoulder to Alistair. "He's a friend."

"I never expected you to free yourself – to free us both," Niall added. He smiled sadly at Alessa. "When you return... take the Litany of Adralla from my... body. It will protect you from the worst of the blood magic."

"What do you mean?" Alessa asked in alarm. "You're coming back with us, aren't you?"

Niall shook his head, his smile slipping. "I... cannot go with you," he said quietly. "I have been here far too long." He sighed. "For you, it will have been an afternoon's nap. Your bodies won't have wasted away in the real world while your spirit lay in the hands of a demon."

Alessa stared at him in horror. "What are you saying?"

"Every minute I was here, the sloth demon was feeding off me – using my life force to fuel the nightmares of this realm." Niall's voice was heavy, resigned. "There is so little of me left..."

Alessa closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She'd been so focussed on finding Alistair and defeating the sloth demon that she'd hadn't really given any thought to Niall. The reason for his persistent lethargy was only too clear, now.

Alistair moved closer to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I was never meant to save the Circle, or... survive its troubles," Niall continued. "I am dying. It is as simple as that."

"No!" Alessa said, her eyes flying open. "There must be something we can do!"

Niall smiled. "Thank you, but it is too late for me." He drew himself up a little straighter. "I do not fear what may come. They say we return to the Maker in death – and that isn't such a terrible thing." He sighed. "My only regret is that I could not save the Circle." He looked at Alessa and held her gaze intently. "But you... you can." He took a deep breath; his breathing seemed laboured now, as if he was having to expend great effort simply to continue speaking. "Take the Litany off my... my body, when you return." Alessa opened her mouth to speak, to protest yet again that he wouldn't die, but he cut her off sharply. "It is important!"

Alessa swallowed and nodded slowly. "I will, Niall."

He breathed a sigh of relief, and returned her nod. "I'm not... a hero," he said quietly, with a trace of bitterness. "Perhaps trying to be one was foolish."

"That's not true," Alessa insisted. "Your actions may yet help save the Circle. And the fact remains that you tried, at great risk to yourself. That's a hero in my book."

Niall considered this, and smiled wryly. "Dark times, greater acts of heroism, eh? You may be right." He stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocussed. "Before I was taken to the Circle, my mother said I was meant for greatness; that I would be more than my ancestors could have ever dreamed." Sorrow shadowed his eyes. "I hope I haven't disappointed her."

"You haven't, Niall," Alessa told him firmly.

Niall looked back at her, a grateful smile on his face. "It is time for us all to be on our way. Remember the Litany of Adralla. The Circle is all that matters now."

"I won't let you down," Alessa promised fervently.

"Thank you. And goodbye... friend."

As he spoke the words, a strange feeling came over Alessa, and she suddenly saw the ghostly flames again; this time, they were all around her. Turning to look at Alistair, she saw them wreathing him too, and realised she could no longer feel his hand on her shoulder. The flames rose up, growing thicker and darker until there was only blackness.


	20. Uldred

**Uldred**

Alessa found herself lying on the cold, stone floor of the Circle tower, and the solidity of it felt wonderful.

They were out of the Fade.

She raised her head to see Alistair scrambling to his feet beside her. Before she could do more than sit up, he had taken a swift step to her side, and was holding out his hand. Taking it, she allowed him to pull her up, and then, without any conscious intent to do so, she let the momentum carry her forward to lean against him, her arms flung around him, her face pressed against his breastplate. The tears that she had successfully fought back in the Fade overwhelmed her now, flowing unchecked down her cheeks.

Taken by surprise, Alistair hesitated for just a moment, and then wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she sobbed her heart out. "Maker's breath, what is it?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, and gulped, struggling to control her breathing. "No. Just... just glad… you're here."

_I thought I'd lost you._

She hadn't realised until now how tightly she'd been controlling that fear, not allowing herself to feel it. Calming herself with an effort, she pushed herself away from him, hastily dashing the tears away with her gauntlet. "It… it just… felt like a long time," she explained lamely. "That I was looking for you, I mean. For both of you," she amended, looking around at Wynne and blushing.

_Thank the Maker Morrigan isn't here. She'd never let me hear the end of this…_

Alistair let his arms drop and nodded gravely at her. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," he muttered. "I should have figured out what was going on." Guilt shadowed his eyes.

She shook her head emphatically. "Don't. Don't think like that. If the demon had put me in a dream where I had my family back..." She swallowed, and dropped her gaze.

Behind Alistair, she saw Wynne bending down to look at the man who lay on the floor, next to the sloth demon's remains. Alessa's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, poor Niall. Is he…?"

Wynne turned round, her face solemn. "He is dead."

Alessa sighed, nodding. Niall had told them to expect this, but she'd hoped… At least his spirit was free to move on, now. With another sigh, she moved to his side and, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, she eased the scroll from the hand clenched around it and held it up, looking at Wynne and Alistair. "Niall died for this," she said quietly. "Let's make his sacrifice count for something." She handed the Litany to Wynne, who took it with a silent nod.

oOo

They made their way warily through the rest of the templars' quarters, cleaning up the few remaining demons as they went. Finally, they emerged into a small room with a set of stone steps at one corner of it, leading up to a heavy, ornate door.

To one side of the stairs, a young templar knelt, surrounded by a ring of purple light that extended all the way up to the ceiling. His head was bowed in prayer. Alessa glanced at Alistair and Wynne, and then approached the templar, who looked up at her with suspicion.

"This trick, again?" he asked wearily. "I know what you are. It won't work." He bent down on one knee, head bowed, as if in prayer. "I will stay strong..."

"Are you all right?" Alessa asked him. She placed a hand tentatively against the energy barrier surrounding him. It felt cool and glassy, and completely solid, even though it appeared to consist only of light. "What won't work?"

His only response was to bury his head in his hands.

"The boy is exhausted," Wynne commented to Alessa. "And this cage..." She rested her fingers lightly against it for a moment, and then snatched her hand back with a faint shudder. "I've never seen anything like it." She turned to the templar, speaking gently and soothingly. "Rest easy... help is here."

The templar pressed his palms to the sides of his forehead and groaned. "Enough visions! If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game." He choked back a sob. "You broke the others, but I will stay strong! For my sake... for theirs." He trembled. "Filthy blood mages... getting in my head. I... will not break... I'd rather die!"

Wynne turned to look at Alessa, and there was sorrow in her eyes. "I fear he is more broken than he realises," she said quietly. "This is not the boy I knew."

"You know him?"

Wynne nodded. "His name is Cullen. He has not been here a year, but that was long enough to know that he had a good heart. He always spoke kindly to the apprentices." She sighed heavily. "Too kindly, sometimes. There was one apprentice in particular... I believe Greagoir chastised him at least once in that regard."

The young templar groaned aloud and shuddered.

"It's all right," Alessa said, trying to make her voice sound reassuring. "We are not blood mages, and we're not visions. You're safe now."

Cullen sprang to his feet, a look of fury on his face. "Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!" He stared at them, his anger slowly giving way to bewilderment. "Still here?" he said shakily. "But that's always worked before!" His voice rose slightly, bordering on hysteria. "I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them!"

"As I tried to tell you," Alessa said patiently, "we're not visions, we are really here. And you have nothing to fear from us."

The young man's eyes widened. "Truly? You are real?"

"As real as you," Alistair commented airily.

Cullen breathed deeply. "Don't blame me for being cautious," he said slowly. "The voices... the images..." He shuddered. "So real..." He shook his head, as if trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. "Did Greagoir send you? How... how did you get here?"

"Greagoir allowed us entry," Alessa confirmed, "so that we might try to save the tower." She hesitated a moment, then added, "We are Grey Wardens."

The templar's eyes widened at this, and then narrowed. "Good. Kill Uldred. Kill them all for what they've done." His tone was flat. "They caged us like animals... looked for ways to break us." His voice shook. "I'm the only one left..." He looked at Alessa, but his eyes were distant. "They turned some into... monsters," he added hollowly. "And... there was nothing I could do."

Alessa was not unsympathetic to the poor man's plight, but she still had a task to fulfil. "Where are Irving and the others?"

"What others? What are you talking about?"

"Irving, and the other mages who fought Uldred," Wynne interjected. "Where are they?"

Cullen glanced apprehensively towards the door at the top of the stairs. "They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming from there..." His voice cracked and he looked back towards them with despair in his eyes. "Oh, Maker..."

Alessa glanced involuntarily towards the same door. It looked to be made of solid oak, and she could hear nothing from beyond it. She wondered if Cullen's magical prison somehow amplified the sounds he said he could hear, or whether they were in his mind.

"We must hurry," Wynne said urgently. "They are in grave danger, I am sure of it."

"You can't save them," the templar cried. "You don't know what they've become!"

"Which is what, exactly?" Alistair asked, tension plain in his voice.

Cullen trembled. "They've been surrounded b-by blood mages, whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts." His face twisted into a rictus of fear and fury.

Alessa shivered. The young templar seemed to be barely holding on to his sanity. "Surrounded by blood mages," she repeated gently, hoping to get through to that good heart Wynne had seen in him. "They are captives, then, who oppose Uldred. And we will free them."

"You can't trust them!" Cullen snarled. "Blood mages or not, they are all abominations in the making!" He turned his fevered glare on Wynne, who recoiled a step despite the impassible barrier between them.

"His hatred of mages is so intense," Alistair said quietly. "The memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind."

"You have to end it now, before it's too late!" Cullen insisted angrily.

"We mean to stop Uldred," Alessa told him. "But we must first see what the situation is up there. I intend to save anyone who can possibly be saved."

The young templar's eyes narrowed. "Are you really saving anyone by taking this risk?" he asked coldly. "To ensure this horror is ended... to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill _everyone_ up there."

Alessa met his gaze with an outward calm that belied her unease. "I cannot decide on that before seeing what's going on."

"That is your choice to make, but I beg you to consider what I have to say," Cullen pleaded. "You cannot tell maleficarum by sight. Just one could influence the mind of a king, of a grand cleric."

Alessa involuntarily glanced at Alistair at the word 'king', and flushed slightly when she caught his eye. Looking back at the templar, she said flatly, "I won't have the blood of innocents on my hands. Too many have died already, and you would blindly kill more?"

"I am just willing to see the painful truth," Cullen snapped, "which you are content to ignore." He let out an exasperated sigh. "Ah, but what can I do?" He gestured bitterly at the shield surrounding him. "As you can see, I am in no position to directly influence your actions, though I would love to deal with the mages myself."

Alessa met his gaze coolly. "Uldred will be dealt with, be assured of that. As for the other mages, I will decide what is to be done once I have assessed the situation."

He sank back down to his knees. "No one ever listens," he muttered despairingly, more to himself than to them. "Not until it is far too late."

oOo

The scene that met them as they emerged into the Harrowing Chamber was a daunting one. Magical energies crackled in all directions, and the air was rent with howls of pain.

In the centre of the room, a bald, hard-faced mage stood, with an abomination on either side of him. All three were casting energies of some kind at another mage on the floor in front of them, who writhed in agony; it was his screams that filled the chamber. As Alessa watched, appalled, the tormented man transformed before her eyes into another abomination, his cries of agony turning into a low rumbling snarl. The creature stood and moved to join its companions as they all turned to face Alessa's group..

The hard-faced mage smiled unpleasantly and stepped forward. "Ah... look what we have here." His tone was measured and unconcerned. "An intruder. I bid you welcome." He studied them all calmly. "Care to join in our... revels?" He formed his words carefully, as if relishing each one, and he arched a brow in amusement.

Alistair shifted closer to Alessa, his bearing tense; he glared wordlessly at the mage.

Despite his distinctive appearance, it was the voice that caught her attention. She knew the man, Alessa realised, although it took her a moment to place him. With a feeling of disquiet, she recalled him speaking at the war council at Ostagar, offering to use magic to send the signal to the Loghain's men, instead of relying on the beacon.

_What might have changed that day, _she wondered uneasily, _if he had been allowed his way?_

"I take it you're Uldred," Alessa said, with a calm she didn't feel. Her gaze darting around the room, she noted the group of mages huddled to one side; their hands were bound by some magical force, and all of them seemed cowed. They were all looking away from the mage and his abomination minions, as if by doing so they hoped to avoid drawing attention.

Uldred's smile turned into a sneer. "Oh, very observant," he mocked. "I'm quite impressed you're still alive. Unfortunately, that must mean you killed my servants." He didn't appear to be more than mildly perturbed by this, as if it was no more than a slight inconvenience. "Ah well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible responsibility of independence."

"You're turning these people into abominations!" Alistair's disgust was plain in his voice.

"And freeing them in the process!" Uldred retorted. His indignation seemed genuine. "A mage is but the larval form of something greater. Your Chantry vilifies us, calls us abominations, when we have truly reached our full potential!" He glanced round at the captive mages cowering behind him. "Look at them," he sneered. "The Chantry has them convinced. They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something glorious!"

"You're mad!" Wynne spoke at last, her voice shaking with rage. "There's nothing glorious about what you've become, Uldred!"

He laughed contemptuously, shaking his head. "Uldred? He is gone. I am Uldred and yet not Uldred. I am more than he was." His voice became a parody of sympathy and persuasiveness. "I could give you this gift, Wynne. You and all mages." His tone hardened as he added, "It would be so much easier if you just accepted it."

Wynne glared furiously at him, not deigning to dignify his offer with a response.

Uldred shrugged. "But some people can be so stubborn."

"When what you offer is so abhorrent, you can hardly be surprised when people resist your _gift_," Alessa retorted.

Uldred returned his attention to her, regarding her curiously. "And what good did that do?" he asked in amusement. "I still won."

"You haven't won yet," Alessa insisted.

Uldred smiled, and gestured towards the group of mages. "I even have the first enchanter on my side, don't I... Irving?"

From the corner of her eye Alessa saw Wynne stiffen, and Alistair hissed between his teeth. One of the mages reluctantly turned his head and looked at Uldred; his grey hair fell about his face in an unkempt mess, his fine robes were dishevelled, and his expression was one of resignation.

Wynne gasped. "What have you done to him?"

The elderly mage turned to look at Wynne, and a tiny spark of defiance lit up in his eyes. Shaking with effort, he sat up, and his voice came out in a low rasp. "Stop him... he... is building an army. He will... destroy the templars, and—"

"You're a sly little fox," Uldred interrupted, waving a hand contemptuously at the first enchanter. Irving groaned in pain. "Telling on me like that." Uldred pouted and turned back to face Alessa and her companions. "And here I thought he was starting to turn."

"N-never," Irving ground out between gritted teeth.

Uldred's expression darkened. "That's enough from you, Irving!" The first enchanter groaned again, and Uldred sneered. "He'll serve me eventually. As will you..." His eyes singled out Alessa, and she shuddered as they seemed to pierce right through her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alistair snapped, taking a step forward as if intending to put himself between the mage and Alessa.

Uldred laughed unpleasantly. "You are a thorn in my side, all of you, and I must remove you before you fester."

"You can certainly try," Alessa said coldly, moving to stand at Alistair's side. "But you will find us harder to kill than you imagine."

"Kill you?" Uldred protested indignantly. "No, no. Killing you would be a waste." He smiled. "Your raw potential, with the strength of a demon behind it, would be unstoppable."

"I'm no mage," Alessa retorted. "You can't turn me into one of your abominations."

Uldred's smile widened. "It is merely easier with mages; but the possibility is there for everyone. Especially those so recently touched by the Fade." He chuckled as Alessa and Alistair exchanged horrified glances. "I can do that... I can give you power, and a new life."

"I like my old life just fine, thanks," Alessa spat defiantly, pushing down the knot of fear inside her.

"I don't think your opinion matters," Uldred sneered. "That is what I've decided, and that is what will be done."

"You'll not lay a hand on her, monster," Alistair said in a low, dangerous voice.

Uldred laughed. "Fight, if you must. It will just make my victory all the sweeter."

Alessa swallowed as Uldred threw his hands up and his head back, the air around him crackling with energy as he transformed into the most hideous demon she'd seen yet. It towered over them, its upper body covered in spiky cartilage, its face turning into a snout full of needle-like teeth, its tiny eyes inset into the hard flesh but glowing balefully at them.

Wynne hissed in recognition of the demon's form. "Pride," Alessa heard her mutter.

Beside her she heard Alistair drawing his sword, and she found her own weapons in her hands; she didn't remember unsheathing them. They both moved forward as Uldred and the other abominations closed in.

As they met demonic claws with cold steel, Alessa heard Wynne chanting aloud behind her; she was reciting the Litany of Adralla. The abomination that had been Uldred heard it too, and must have recognised it for what it was; the demon howled in fury and charged at Alessa and Alistair, trying to get through them to Wynne. They fought to hold their line, buying her time to complete the Litany, while Dane hurled himself at Uldred, tearing at the softer, sinewy flesh of the demon's lower body with his powerful jaws. The demon roared again, in pain this time, and Alessa noted that the chanting had ceased. The Litany had been completed, and the briefest of glances behind her confirmed that Wynne was now adding her spells to the battle.

Leaving Alistair and Dane to hold Uldred's attention, Alessa turned her blades on the nearest abomination, slashing fiercely at it. The other two abominations crowded around her, and she felt their claws tearing at her, but just as the pain became unbearable, Wynne's healing magic washed over her. Alessa relentlessly pressed home her attacks; the first abomination fell, then the next, and finally, only Uldred remained.

Turning her attention to Uldred, Alessa saw that he had retaken his human form; as her gaze swept past him, the reason become apparent. Dane was frozen to the spot in mid-attack, encased in ice, while Alistair was caught in a prison of pulsing energy, his head thrown back in a silent scream, his body writhing in agony.

With an incoherent yell of fury, Alessa lunged at Uldred. He turned his head towards her, his gloating sneer turning to shock as her sword pierced his heart. The spells holding Alistair and Dane were immediately broken, and Alistair collapsed to the ground with a loud groan. He looked up at Alessa and gave her a weak grin, and she relaxed.

She lifted a booted foot to push Uldred back off her sword, and he fell to the ground, glassy-eyed.

"I guess pride really does go before a fall," she muttered to the corpse.

A sudden commotion from the stairs drew Alessa's attention, and she turned to see Cullen burst through the door. Uldred's death had freed him from his prison, too.

The young templar looked around the chamber in a frenzy, and his eyes fell on Irving and the other mages. His eyes narrowing, he took a purposeful stride towards them, and Alessa moved swiftly to intercept him.

"It's over," she said quietly, standing determinedly in his path. "Uldred and all those he turned into abominations are dead. There is no need for any further violence."

Cullen stared at her, his jaw clenched, and for a moment he seemed ready to argue with her; but Alistair came to stand at her side, and Dane growled dangerously. The young templar's eyes darted warily between them all, and his hand hovered towards his empty scabbard, clenching around thin air. With a sullen shrug, he moved off to examine the fallen abominations; checking for himself, no doubt, that they were actually dead.

Alistair's eyes followed the templar, while Alessa turned towards the mages. Most of them cowered away from her, not seeming to realise that the threat had been ended, but Irving took her outstretched hand and pulled himself up.

"Oh, Maker," he groaned. "I'm too old for this."

"Irving!" Wynne's voice was anxious. "Are you all right?"

The first enchanter grimaced. "I've... ugh... been better," he acknowledged. "But I am thankful to be alive. I suppose that is your doing, isn't it, Wynne?"

Wynne smiled and gestured at Alessa and Alistair. "I wasn't alone. I had help."

Irving nodded at them, smiling. "The Circle owes both of you a debt we will never be able to repay."

"Irving," Wynne said urgently, "we must get you back to Greagoir. He needs to know that the tower is once again ours. Do you need healing?"

Irving waved her concern aside. "I will be fine. Although," he smiled at Alessa, "I may need you to guide me down the stairs. Ah, curse whoever insisted the Circle be housed in a tower..."

oOo

By the time their group reached the bottom of the tower, Irving was sufficiently recovered to use a spell on the barred doors; they swung open, revealing templars rushing into defensive positions beyond.

From behind them, a familiar voice rang out. "Alessa!" Leliana slipped through the line of templars and darted towards her; before Alessa could react, she was enfolded in a fierce hug. "When you didn't come back, I was so worried! I convinced that templar at the dock bring us over here, but _that_ man—" She glowered at Greagoir. "—wouldn't let us in the tower!"

Zevran followed her at a more leisurely pace, grinning. "You see, my dear companion?" he said to the redhead, who was now hugging a surprised Alistair. "I told you they would be fine." He shrugged an apology at Alessa. "Leliana, she can be quite persuasive, no? " He glanced at Greagoir, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Although the knight-commander does seem to be immune."

Greagoir ignored their remarks. "Irving?" he asked, his tone that of one who hardly dared believe what his eyes showed him. He moved to meet them, waving the templars back. "Maker's breath, I did not expect to see you alive."

"It is over, Greagoir," Irving said wearily. "Uldred... is dead."

Cullen pushed his way forward. "Uldred tortured these mages," he told Greagoir grimly, "hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations." He glanced back at Irving and the other mages, his expression cold. "We don't know how many of them have turned."

"What?" Irving's expression was incredulous. "Don't be ridiculous!"

Cullen threw the first enchanter a suspicious look. "Of course he'll say that! He might be a blood mage! Don't you know what they did?" His voice rose hysterically. "I won't let this happen again!"

Greagoir frowned at him, and Alessa had the feeling that the nuances of Cullen's tone and the slight shake of the young templar's hands were not lost on the older man. "I am the knight-commander here, not you." His tone was firm, and Cullen subsided.

"If I may, knight-commander," Alessa said quietly, and Greagoir gave her a slight nod. "I believe order has been restored to the Circle."

"We will rebuild," Irving added. "The Circle will go on, and we will learn from this tragedy, and be strengthened by it."

Greagoir nodded. "We have won back the tower. I will accept the assurances of Irving and the Wardens that all is well."

"But they may have demons within them," Cullen protested, "lying dormant... lying in wait!"

"Enough!" snapped Greagoir, and Cullen fell silent, looking abashed. "I have already made my decision." He turned to Alessa and Alistair. "Thank you, Wardens. You have proven yourselves friends of both the Circle, and the templars."

"We did only what needed to be done," Alessa said. "And... I am sorry to ask, knight-commander, at such a time – but what of the darkspawn? We still require the aid of the templars and the Circle in fighting the Blight."

Greagoir looked uncomfortable. "I promised you aid," he agreed, "but with the Circle restored, my duty is to watch the mages, and to restore order to the tower. They are free to help you, however, if Irving is willing."

"I understand," Alessa said, hiding her disappointment.

"Please, excuse me," Greagoir added. "I must oversee a sweep of the tower. There may be more survivors, and we should do our best to tend to them." He bowed his head briefly. "And, Irving..." His expression and tone softened slightly as he turned to the first enchanter. "It is good to have you back."

Irving smiled genially at his templar counterpart. "Ah, I'm sure we'll be at each other's throats again in no time." His tone was warm, and Alessa thought she saw the faintest of smiles on Greagoir's face before he turned to leave. Clearly, the two men, who could easily have been adversaries given their respective positions, had instead become friends over the years.

Cullen threw a last suspicious glance at the mages, and followed Greagoir.

Irving turned to Alessa. "Here we are, the tower in disarray, the Circle nearly annihilated... though it could have been much, much worse." He smiled affably at her, but she could see the sadness in his eyes at the thought of all that had been lost. "I am glad you arrived when you did. It is almost as though the Maker Himself sent you."

Alessa shook her head uncomfortably. "If anything brought me here, first enchanter, it was the darkspawn threat. We came to seek the aid of the Circle, in accordance with the ancient treaties. But I am glad we were able to help."

Irving nodded solemnly. "The least we can do is help you against the darkspawn. I would hate to survive this, only to be overcome by the Blight."

Alessa hesitated. "Are you sure the Circle is... still in a position to offer such aid, first enchanter?" she asked, trying her best to be tactful. "There are so few mages left; do you not need to focus your efforts here?"

"We will do what we can for now," Irving said heavily, "but if the Blight spreads, the tower itself will be lost. Stopping the Blight is more important." He drew himself up slightly, suddenly looking more imposing. "You have my word, as first enchanter. The Circle will join the Grey Wardens in the fight."

Alessa nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

"Irving, I have a request," Wynne spoke up suddenly. "I seek leave to follow the Grey Wardens."

Alessa and Irving both looked at her in surprise. "Wynne," Irving said reluctantly, "we need you here. The Circle needs you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Irving, but the Circle will do fine without me." Wynne smiled. "The Circle has you." She glanced at Alessa and Alistair, still smiling. "These Wardens are brave and good, and capable of great things. If they will accept my help, I would help them accomplish their goals."

Alessa glanced at Alistair; he nodded approvingly. She turned back to Wynne. "We would be honoured to have you join us, Wynne." She felt oddly touched by the woman's words.

Irving smiled at Wynne. "You were never one to stay in the tower when there was adventure to be had elsewhere. I give you leave to follow the Grey Wardens... but know that you always have a place here." Wynne nodded, and Irving sighed. "There is much to be done here, and I must go. You must forgive me for not being a proper host."

Alessa smiled, and shook her head. "There is nothing to forgive, first enchanter. We must be on our way soon, in any case." She looked at Wynne. "How soon can you be ready to leave?"

Wynne smiled sadly. "I have few personal belongings, and I suppose I have not so many farewells to say as I would have before..." She trailed off sadly, and gave Alessa a weak smile. "It will not take me long."

Alessa watched in silence as the older woman walked away, unable to think of any response to this.

"Well, then," Irving said in a subdued tone. "I wish you well, Wardens. When the time comes, we will stand beside you."

oOo

The innkeeper greeted them enthusiastically as they entered The Spoiled Princess. He and his wife both had a slightly harried air, while Morrigan's expression was suspiciously innocent. Sten, naturally, was simply glowering silently at everyone.

Suspecting they had returned not a moment too soon, Alessa hastily ushered her companions out of the inn, and after a brief round of introductions – some of which Alessa kept deliberately vague – they set off on the return journey to Denerim.

Wynne, Alessa noticed, kept a wary eye on Morrigan. The older mage seemed none too pleased to have learnt that one of their party was an apostate, but to Alessa's relief Wynne kept her thoughts on the subject to herself.

Leliana was eager to hear all about their adventures; as they travelled, Alessa and Alistair told of Uldred's attempted coup, and of its dire results. Alessa also related the events that had occurred within the Fade, although she held back the details of her own nightmare, as well as those of Alistair and Wynne. Those were too personal to be shared.

As the afternoon wore on, Alessa noticed that the journey seemed to be taking its toll on Wynne; the woman looked exhausted. Drawing closer to the mage, Alessa asked quietly, "Are you all right, Wynne?"

The older woman smiled at her. "Oh, it's been a long day. Rest... rest would be welcome."

Alessa glanced at the sky; the sun was nearing the horizon. "We'll make camp soon; you can rest then." She studied the mage. "Is rest all you need?"

"Yes... yes, of course," Wynne assured her. "I am just a little... weary." She smiled wryly. "As you may have noticed, I'm no spring chicken." She chuckled quietly.

Alessa smiled, and matching the other woman's light tone, she replied, "There's still plenty of life in those old bones, I'll bet."

"Thank you," Wynne responded. "You're very kind to say so." She sighed, suddenly looking older. "But in all honesty, I do not know how many years I have left in me. I have lived for such a long time." She looked around thoughtfully. "But there is always something else to do, and I have to keep going in order to do it." She met Alessa's gaze with a faint smile, but Alessa thought she could see sadness in the woman's eyes. "I think I will be glad when I am... done."

Alessa stared at her in alarm. "Hey, don't talk like that." Trying for a humorous tone to lighten the atmosphere again, she added, "You promised to help me achieve my goals; don't you go backing out on me now."

Wynne smiled. "Oh, no... I'm not the sort of person that leaves things unfinished. I'll see this through, I promise."

oOo

They made camp when dusk fell, and everyone busied themselves with one chore or another. Alessa was surprised to find that, for the first time, no one needed to be prodded into action, or stopped from bickering; they all just quietly got on with something useful.

Perhaps it was thanks to Wynne's calming influence.

Alessa was slightly surprised when Alistair insisted on accompanying her to collect wood for the fire, but she didn't argue with him; in truth, after all the time alone in the Fade, she was glad of his company.

When they were out of earshot of the camp, Alistair suddenly cleared his throat. "I'm wondering something," he began, and Alessa glanced up at him as she bent to pick up a small branch. "Zevran. The elf. You can't... you don't trust him, do you? Do you really believe his so-called vow?"

Alessa studied him, catching the odd tone in his voice. His expression was unusually guarded. She raised her eyebrows, smiling slightly. "Alistair, are you jealous?"

She'd meant the question to tease him, but to her surprise he blushed slightly and smiled. "Maybe a little." Her eyes widened at his candour, and she felt a blush coming to her own cheeks. He cleared his throat, and tried to look serious. "That doesn't stop the question from being relevant."

She nodded, and deferred any analysis of his admission in order to give the question proper consideration. "I believe that it is in his best interests to remain with us, and that he knows that. And I believe he meant his vow. Though whether he will _keep_ it, if circumstances change..." She sighed. "Maybe. We'll see."

He stopped walking and turned to face her, looking concerned. "That's a lot to put on a 'maybe', isn't it? He's an assassin. The Crows aren't known for giving up. _Maybe_ he's just biding his time."

Alessa nodded again. "It's possible, I know that. But if he does try anything..." She met his gaze steadily. "Then he'll die."

Alistair's tension eased. "Well, at least you're considering the possibility."

"I'm willing to give him a chance to prove his sincerity, though," she added.

Alistair looked dubious. "Hmm. Well, if you are, then I guess I should, too. But that doesn't mean I won't keep an eye on him." He sighed. "He just seems shifty to me," he grumbled.

Alessa struggled, unsuccessfully, to keep a smile from her face. Alistair frowned at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, as innocently as she could manage, thinking of his admission of jealousy. Perhaps it was wrong to be pleased by that, but she couldn't help feeling so. "Anyway," she added, as much to distract herself as him, "Leliana seems to like him."

Alistair rolled his eyes in amused exasperation. "Leliana likes _everyone_. Or says she does." He grinned. "Not to mention that she thinks the Maker sent her on a personal mission, which some might say makes her judgement a little questionable."

Alessa arched her brow at him. "What, you don't believe in divine visions and miracles?" she teased. "The Chantry would be so disappointed in you."

He chuckled. "Even the Chantry believes that most claims of visions and such are usually people's minds playing tricks on them. Wishful thinking at best." He looked thoughtful. "Although... well, if you want the truth, I'm not sure what I think." He looked quizzically at her.

Alessa shrugged as best she could with an armful of branches. "Don't ask _me_. You're the one who's had Chantry training." She sighed. "The only thing I'm sure of, is that Leliana believes it wholeheartedly."

Alistair nodded thoughtfully. "Chantry training and common sense both tell me not to believe it... and yet, I can't seem to dismiss it so easily. I mean... it's not as if we didn't need the help when she came to us. And how could she have known?" He sighed heavily. "I don't know what to make of her. If you look at her when she doesn't see you, she just looks so... so sad. I almost feel guilty taking her away from her life."

Alessa looked at him, slightly startled by his clear concern, and she suddenly realised, guiltily, that she hadn't really been paying close attention to Leliana's state of mind. She'd seen the young woman's smiles and heard her laughter and had just assumed that everything was all right. But now that Alistair had said it, she thought back and realised that Leliana's smiles didn't always quite reach her eyes.

_Alistair's tendency towards humour and silliness make it easy to forget, sometimes_, she thought ruefully, _that beneath that boyish mask lurks a caring and often astute man_. She resolved to pay more attention to both his insights and to Leliana's true moods, in future.

"It was her choice," she said quietly. "She wanted to come with us. And Lothering wasn't exactly a safe place to be."

"Yes, I know," Alistair said sadly. "Still, I feel badly for her."

oOo

_Leaving him to build up and light the campfire, Alessa heads off to the nearby stream with Leliana to clean up before supper._

_Alistair watches her go with a vague feeling of unrest. It's the first time she's been out of his sight since the Fade, and it makes him feel slightly uneasy. _

_He puts it down to a fear of failing her again._

_He becomes aware of being watched himself, and looks up to see Zevran lounging easily against a tree trunk as he shreds herbs for the potions and poultices that Wynne and Morrigan are preparing. _

_The task apparently doesn't require the assassin's full attention, because his gaze is centred on Alistair, and there is a mocking grin on his face. When he sees that he has caught Alistair's eye, the elf deliberately lets his gaze slowly move to the path Alessa and Leliana took, and then back to Alistair. His grin widens._

_Alistair reddens, realising that the assassin has caught him watching Alessa. He gives Zevran a cold glare, and the elf actually laughs at him before pointedly turning away to speak to Wynne, who smiles and nods. He pays Alistair no further attention._

_Alistair marvels at how, in just a few short hours, the assassin seems to have become accepted as one of their party by almost everyone, as if he has been with them all along. The elf appears to be completely at ease with everyone, and Alistair seems to be the only one troubled by the elf's presence. _

_He can't understand why Alessa would choose to trust someone who openly and without remorse admits to having been sent to kill them. Grimly, he hopes that not finishing the assassin off during the ambush will not prove to be another way in which he has failed her. _

_At least she appears to pay no mind to the assassin's overt flirting, not that it seems to deter Zevran any. But in the darkest corner of his mind, Alistair can't help wondering if the elf's apparent charm, which has already reduced Leliana to girlish giggles more than once, had anything to do with Alessa's decision. _

_Perhaps she's right, and he's simply jealous. _

_That train of thought takes his mind back to their conversation in the woods, and he runs over it again in his head, wondering what had made her ask that. He can't help feeling that she seemed a little bit pleased by his answer, which has to be a good thing. Doesn't it?_

_And then he reminds himself that if he doesn't get this fire built properly, none of his companions are going to be very pleased him with, and with a sigh he returns his attention to the task at hand._


	21. Revelations

**Revelations**

Supper that night was a relaxed affair, and after they had finished everyone but Morrigan and Sten remained seated by the fire for a time, talking amiably.

"We need a storyteller," Alistair reflected idly. "Aren't people supposed to tell stories around a camp fire?"

"Oh, I love stories!" Leliana cried enthusiastically. "My favourite tale is that of Aveline, the knight of Orlais. Would you care to hear it?"

A chorus of approval met her offer. Beaming, Leliana obligingly began the tale, relating it with exuberance. She was a natural storyteller, and Alessa was slightly disappointed when she reached the end of her tale.

The men headed off to the stream to clean up, and Wynne announced she was retiring for the night, leaving Alessa and Leliana alone by the fire.

"You know, I'm curious about something," Alessa ventured. "What was someone like you doing in a chantry?"

Leliana frowned. "What is meant by 'someone like me'?"

"I meant no offence," Alessa said hastily. "I simply meant that... well, you just don't seem like you'd belong in a cloister. Your fighting skills, and the tales you tell – they suggest a more… worldly person."

Leliana chuckled. "Did you think I was _always_ a cloistered sister? The Chantry provides succour and safe harbour to all who seek it. I chose to stay, and become affirmed."

"Affirmed?"

"We affirm our belief in the Maker," Leliana explained, "in Andraste and the Chant, but other than that, no vows are taken."

"So what did you do before your time in the Chantry?" Alessa asked.

"I was a travelling minstrel, in Orlais." Leliana sighed faintly; Alessa wasn't sure if she even realised she'd done so. "Tales and songs were my life. I performed, and they rewarded me with applause and coin. And my skill in battle?" She smiled, slightly nervously, Alessa thought. "Well, you pick up different skills when you travel, yes? Yes, of course."

"A minstrel? Well, that explains your flair for storytelling. But..." Alessa smiled conspiratorially, and nudged her friend. "I heard that, in Orlais, minstrels are often spies."

She had meant it at as a joke, but Leliana's expression grew wary. "Where did you hear this?"

Alessa blinked, surprised at the other woman's reaction, and tried to remember. "I think I read it somewhere," she shrugged.

Leliana laughed. "And do you believe everything you read?" Her laugh sounded forced, and Alessa remained silent, unsure how to respond. Leliana looked uncomfortable, and added, "Not all minstrels are spies; most are just singers and storytellers. But some of them are... are what we call bards."

"What's the difference?" Alessa asked, confused. She had always thought they were one and the same.

"Many use the two words, 'minstrel' and 'bard', interchangeably," Leliana explained. "But to do so in Orlais would cause... misunderstanding. Bards are minstrels – and more. Spies, as you say." She looked around to ensure they were not overheard, and leaned closer. "Some say there is a bard order, but I don't think this is true. Many bards work alone, or in small groups, doing the bidding of a patron who pays for their services. If there is an organisation behind it all, no one knows who they are."

Alessa found herself intrigued. "It sounds like bards are quite in demand in Orlais."

Leliana laughed. "Oh, very much so. In Orlais, there is much rivalry amongst the high-born. They fight over land, influence and the favour of the empress. But they cannot do this openly, because it is impolite, and in public they wear smiling faces and pretend to be civil. In secret, they plot and scheme to destroy each other. It is a game completely meaningless to anyone but its players."

Leliana's eyes sparkled, and the easy familiarity with which she spoke of the 'game' was not lost on Alessa. "You seem to know quite a bit about bards."

The redhead smiled ruefully. "And I should, shouldn't I, after having spent most of my adult life as one. You've guessed as much, I'm sure." Her smile faded. "But does it really matter what I was? What's past is past."

"But, if you were an Orlesian bard, how did you come to be living as a cloistered sister in Lothering?" Alessa asked in confusion.

Leliana looked away, but not before Alessa caught the sadness in her friend's eyes. "I... found myself in Ferelden and sheltered from bad weather in the chantry. And when the storm passed I just... did not want to leave." She sighed. "I like to say the Maker brought me here." She got up suddenly, and walked off in the direction of the stream, her eyes downcast to avoid meeting the gazes of the three men who were just now returning.

Sensing that she had reached the limits of what Leliana was willing to share, Alessa made no attempt to stop her.

oOo

Having little wish to sleep, Alessa volunteered to take the first watch that night. She was in no hurry to re-enter the Fade, even if only in dreams.

Alistair immediately offered to take the watch with her and, guessing his motivations were the same as hers, she readily agreed. They arranged that Sten and Morrigan would take over from them, while Leliana and Zevran would take the final watch, which seemed agreeable enough to everyone concerned.

Alistair looked especially pleased with the arrangement; remembering the odd atmosphere of the last night they'd spent in camp, Alessa suspected he was relieved at not having to stand watch with Zevran again.

They sat for a time in companionable silence after the others had retired to their tents. After a while, Alessa became aware that Alistair was watching her. She turned to look at him, catching a smile on his face and a faraway look in his eyes.

She smiled back at him. "A copper for your thoughts," she said softly.

He flushed slightly. "I… I was just thinking that I owe you a great deal for getting me out of that Fade trap." He met her gaze, his expression turning serious. "I'm not sure anyone else would have been able to get through to me, convince me it wasn't real."

Alessa lowered her eyes. "I'm just glad I was able to find you." She shivered. "When I found myself there alone, I…" She trailed off, too embarrassed to tell him of the panic she'd felt, searching island after the island of the sloth demon's domain, desperately looking for him.

He studied her for a moment. "You never said how you got out of your dream. How did you know it wasn't real?"

"I didn't, at first," she admitted. "Even with Duncan there—"

"Duncan?" he echoed, startled.

She nodded, a rueful grin spreading across her face. "I know. You'd think that would have sounded some warning bells, wouldn't you?" She sighed. "But no, I just accepted that he was real, accepted what he was telling me: that the war was over, that the darkspawn had been defeated for good."

"I can understand wanting to believe all that," Alistair murmured. "So how did you see through it?"

"He told me you were dead." Her words were barely above a whisper, and even so, saying them made her shudder. His intake of breath drew her gaze, and she met his eyes. "A part of my mind just refused… I could accept everything else, but not… not that you were… gone." She heard the shake in her voice and took a breath to steady herself. "After that, I started questioning everything, and I realised that the things Duncan was telling me just didn't make sense." She shrugged. "The rest, you know."

He nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing. For a time they simply sat there, looking into the fire, taking comfort in each other's presence.

"When you were in the Chantry... did you ever hunt any mages?" Alessa asked after a long silence.

Alistair shook his head. "No. I never actually became a full templar. Duncan recruited me before I took my vows." He hesitated, and added, "I was only ever present during one Harrowing; that's the ritual that they test mages with." He met Alessa's gaze. "It's not unlike our Joining, really, and... just as deadly." His eyes clouded with remembered horror. "The girl they tested... she had a demon put inside her, to see if she could resist." He shuddered. "And she couldn't. We had to... end it quickly." He stared at Alessa with haunted eyes.

She shivered. "That's horrible."

"Yes. I have to say I didn't have much interest in becoming a templar after that."

Alessa frowned in confusion. "But... you _are_ a templar, aren't you? I mean, I've seen you using their abilities. So why did you remain a templar, if you hate the Chantry?"

He grinned awkwardly. "Have you seen the uniform? It's not only stylish, but well-made. I'm a sucker for good tailoring."

She gave him a half-amused, half-exasperated look. "Why don't you wear it, then?" she challenged.

"I keep it hidden under my pillow," he replied, smirking. "Sometimes I'll take it out just so I can hug it fondly and remember the good old days." He sniffed melodramatically, and added tearfully. "Brings a tear to the eyes, don't you know?"

Alessa sighed. "You know, if you don't want to answer my questions, you could just say so. Not that I don't appreciate your humour, but you don't need to use it as a shield."

He gave her a wry grin. "I'd use my real shield if I could... but I think you might actually spot me hiding behind it."

"As opposed to spotting you hiding behind the jokes, which I believe I just did?"

"Right. Good point." He sighed heavily. "You don't _really_ want to know about my being a templar, do you? It's really quite boring."

Alessa shrugged. "So?" She winked at him. "Embellish it a little. Perhaps you could add pirates? Pirates always make for a thrilling tale."

He grinned. "You know, I like the way you think." He sighed. "But I guess, if you're really curious, there's no harm in obliging." The grin came back, more roguish than she'd ever seen it, and he added in a tone that was somehow both innocently teasing and blatantly suggestive at the same time, "I have a couple of interesting-looking moles I can show you later, too, if you're interested."

Alessa's eyes widened at the unexpected remark, and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

Alistair's chuckle died in his throat, and he cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. The truth of the matter is, that I did hate going to the monastery. The initiates from poor families thought I put on airs, while the noble ones called me a bastard and ignored me." His voice took on a resentful undertone as he added, "I felt like Arl Eamon had cast me off, unwanted, and I was determined to be bitter. But I took some solace in the training itself, I guess. I was actually quite good at it."

He sounded almost surprised at that, Alessa noticed. "What did you like about the training?"

"The education, mostly; but also the discipline. You need to have a disciplined mind in order to use the abilities we have. It was difficult, but rewarding." He sighed. "I never really felt at home anywhere, though, until I joined the Grey Wardens. And Duncan felt my templar abilities might be useful for when we encountered darkspawn magic, so I kept it up."

She nodded in understanding.

She nodded slowly. "I know what you mean, about feeling at home with the Grey Wardens." She looked down. "After the attack on Highever Castle, I felt lost, and not just because of losing my family. Highever was the only home I'd ever known, and that bast—" She caught herself just short of saying the word. "Howe destroyed it, in every way possible," she amended. "I had nothing left, and I didn't belong anywhere." She met Alistair's sympathetic gaze. "Duncan told me the Grey Wardens would be my home and my family, but I didn't feel that, not then." She smiled faintly at him. "I do now. My home is with the Grey Wardens, now." She hesitated, and then added, "With you."

Alistair seemed more than a little pleased by this. "Really?" His smile widened. "I... I guess I like the sound of that." He blushed, and cleared his throat. "We won't always be travelling like this, you know. Once the war is over, once the Blight is... well... a time will come when we'll have to think about having a real home again."

Alessa nodded slowly, uncertain how to respond.

_Does he mean a home for the Grey Wardens?_ she wondered. _Or—?_

"Though that seems like a far ways off," he continued, cutting across her train of thought. "And I suppose... the Grey Wardens are gone for good, either way."

"They're not gone, Alistair," she protested. "Not as long as we're alive, and fighting in their name. And the order can be rebuilt."

"I suppose you're right," he said gloomily. "We can create new Grey Wardens – but we'll never get back those we lost. I wonder if it would ever feel the same?"

They were silent a long time after that.

This time, it was Alistair who broke it. "In the Fade… I said being a Grey Warden didn't make me happy." She turned to look at him in surprise, and found him staring intently back at her. "That wasn't exactly true, you know. I mean, yes, the whole family thing – it's a big deal to me, you know that. And finally feeling like I was part of a real family – it did make me feel happier than I had in a long time, but…it wasn't real. And I think deep down I knew that, even before you told me." He sighed. "But this, this is real. Being a Grey Warden gives me a purpose, a place I belong. And..." He hesitated, studying her, and then added, "If I wasn't a Grey Warden, I wouldn't be here, with you, right now." He caught her hand in his, surprising her. "If this was the dream, I wouldn't want to wake up." He winced and made a face. "Ugh. That sounded... pathetic."

Alessa smiled and shook her head, then twined her fingers through his. After a moment, she let her head rest on his shoulder.

Shortly after that, a huge yawn caught her unawares, and Alistair immediately insisted on her getting some sleep. He assured her that it would not be long until Sten awoke for the next watch, and that he would be extra vigilant in the meantime. Finding herself too tired to argue, Alessa acquiesced.

oOo

_Alistair stares at the fire, his thoughts full of the woman sleeping on the far side of it._

_She'd brought her bedroll out of the tent, mumbling that it was too fine and warm a night to sleep under canvas. The night certainly is pleasant, but he suspects that was only part of the reason for her decision to sleep out in the open. Wynne and Leliana are already sharing the tent, and while he thinks Leliana could sleep through an attack from the archdemon itself, Wynne had earlier confessed to being a light sleeper. In the close quarters of the tent, Alessa's inevitable darkspawn dreams would be sure to disturb the elderly mage. _

_He smiles fondly at his fellow Warden. She is always so thoughtful about things like that._

_She tosses and turns, whimpering quietly in response to those same darkspawn dreams. Or perhaps it's a regular nightmare; perhaps she's reliving her experiences in the Fade. He knows that has to have been a more traumatic experience than she's letting on; he'd been shocked when she threw herself against him like that, sobbing like a little girl. Never had he thought to see her as vulnerable as she'd seemed in that moment. It had scared him more than a little to see her that way._

_It troubles him, that he wasn't able to protect her from that._

_He should have seen through the dream, like she did; he should have been there to help her through it all. He feels guilty for having been so lost in the fantasy of a happy family life that he hadn't examined the nagging feeling that something was wrong, that something important was missing._

_That something important had been Alessa; he'd known it the moment he'd seen her standing there in the doorway. But even then, he'd resisted giving up the dream, and that's what tears him up inside._

_Perhaps that guilt is what prompted him to try to explain himself, to let her know that she _is_ important to him, more so than he can say. Of course, he'd messed that up too; he certainly hadn't planned to say what he did, nor had he intended to take hold of her hand that way. She can't possibly entertain any feelings for him, beyond that of simple comradeship; they may both be Grey Wardens now, but status still counts. Status always counts in Ferelden. She's a teyrn's daughter, and being a king's bastard doesn't change the fact that he's little more than a common soldier._

_But her closeness, on top of what she'd said about her home being with him, and the enticing way she'd blushed when he'd made that teasing remark about his moles… He'd gotten carried away in the moment, and said too much._

_He'd expected her to laugh in his face at his clumsy line and the sentiment behind it; to pull her hand primly away from his._

_She'd done neither, and he hasn't got the first clue how to react to that, or what, if anything, he's supposed to do about it._

_She _can't_ have feelings for him. _

_Can she?_

_What could he possibly have to offer a woman like Alessa Cousland? All he has is what he is; a Grey Warden, a warrior. The only things he has to offer are his battle skills, his loyalty, his protection; and they are already at her disposal._

_And just how does one go about wooing someone, anyway? Templar training didn't exactly cover that topic. And his fellow Grey Wardens had been either confirmed bachelors, faithfully married, or unrepentant lechers . Not much help to be gleaned from any of _their_ drunken tales._

_And even if he could, by some miracle, win her heart; should he even try? They have more important things to be worrying about, after all. Like the tiny matter of the Blight, for one._

_No, he should just let the matter drop, and forget such foolish and selfish thoughts._

_So why can't he stop thinking about the way her hand felt in his, or the smell of her hair when her head was resting on his shoulder?_

oOo

The return journey to Denerim was largely uneventful. In the late morning of the first day, Alessa found herself walking alongside Wynne.

"So, tell me," the older woman said with a gentle smile, "how did you become a Grey Warden?"

Alessa stiffened slightly and glanced at Wynne. "Well, the short version is that Arl Howe attacked my home and massacred my family. Duncan happened to be there, and he got me out." She was slightly surprised how steady her voice sounded.

Wynne looked shocked. "Arl Rendon Howe? The arl of Amaranthine? Why would he do such a thing to you?"

Alessa shrugged slightly. "I've asked myself that question so many times, but the truth is, I don't know, not for sure. He'd always been a good friend to my parents... or so we thought." She sighed. "Out of jealousy, I suppose. I guess being an arl wasn't enough for him: he wanted the teyrnir of Highever for himself."

Realisation dawned on Wynne's face. "But then... you are... you are the last of the Couslands?" Alessa nodded slightly, and Wynne added, "I had no idea... my lady."

Alessa shook her head grimly. "You don't need to do that. I'm just a Grey Warden, now."

Wynne sighed. "Yes, I suppose so. You can no longer have a title, can you? But that does not mean you must forget utterly where you came from."

"I will never forget that," Alessa said quietly. "Nor will I ever forget what Howe has done."

"Take heart, my dear," Wynne said. "You survived, even when you were not expected to. We do not know yet what lies in store for you, or the name you carry." She paused and smiled. "It is not so bad, is it... being a Grey Warden?"

Alessa considered this. For all the fighting, all the responsibility that she and Alistair alone now carried, there were also things to be grateful for. She was the warrior she had always wanted to be, surviving through her own skills and merits; she had friends around her that were, in an odd way, becoming a kind of family; and she had Alistair. "No," she agreed. "It is not so bad." She sighed. "I just hope that I can live up to whatever it was that Duncan saw in me."

"Sometimes it gives me comfort to think that everything will end up the way it's supposed to," Wynne told her. "That it will be all right." She smiled at Alessa. "You were chosen; you survived the Joining when others did not. Perhaps it was meant to be."

Alessa nodded silently.

Wynne glanced at her. "I must ask... What does being a Grey Warden mean to you?"

Alessa looked at her in surprise. "I... I never really thought about it. I became a Grey Warden through circumstance, rather than choice, but that doesn't change the fact that it's up to Alistair and I to deal with the Blight. Who else is there?"

Wynne smiled. "There's that, of course, but there's more to being a Grey Warden than killing darkspawn and saving the world from the Blight." Alessa looked at her quizzically, and Wynne continued, "Ultimately, being a Grey Warden is about serving others, about serving all people, whether elves or dwarves or men."

"I don't quite understand," Alessa said, frowning. "The Grey Wardens are servants of neither king nor Chantry."

"As a Grey Warden, you are a guardian of men. And you guard them because their continued existence is more important than you are. Thus it is you who serves, not they."

Alessa nodded thoughtfully. "That does make sense." She looked at the other woman. "Thank you, Wynne. I will keep that in mind."

"A good king – a true king, who cares for his land – uses his power to rule firmly but fairly," Wynne added. "He serves his people first and foremost. The king who does not do this, who believes that he is entitled to his power, who abuses it and uses it for his own means, is a tyrant."

"But I am no king," Alessa protested. "I don't want power. I didn't ask for this responsibility."

"Nonetheless, you have it. If you live apart from others and your actions affect only you, then you may do as you wish," Wynne chided. "But if you have power, influence and strength, your every action will be as a drop of water in a clear, still pond. The drop causes ripples, and ripples spread. Think of how far they will go, how wide they will become. How will they affect the pond?" She smiled warmly. "But I've lectured enough for today. I should stop before I wear out my welcome."

She drifted away, leaving Alessa to ponder her words.

oOo

"So pensive," a not-yet-familiar voice remarked, soft as a caress, interrupting her thoughts. Startled, she turned to see Zevran's eyes fixed on her, a little too close for comfort. "Something troubles you, my dear Warden?"

Slightly taken aback by the elf's casual familiarity, Alessa frowned. "It's nothing." She studied him for a moment; she should probably take the opportunity to get to know their newest companion. "Care to answer some questions?" she challenged.

He arched a brow, smirking. "Oh? This should be good. Go ahead."

"You seemed awfully keen to leave the Crows. Why is that?"

The smirk faded to a thoughtful smile. "Well, now. I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living... at least as far as such things go." He shrugged. "I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?"

"So what would you rather be, if not an assassin?" she asked curiously.

Zevran looked slightly surprised. "Now that you mention it... I am not entirely certain." He shrugged awkwardly. "I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end."

Alessa smiled slightly at this; she found it hard to imagine the self-assured assassin as an unskilled boy.

"The Crows buy all their assassins that way," he continued. "Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder." He looked away. "And if you do poorly in your training, you die." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice suddenly that she hadn't heard from him before.

"That's awful," she said quietly.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Zevran said airily. "It's not a life without benefits... for those who can actually survive it long enough to become good. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect," he added proudly. "It gets you wealth. It gets you women..." He paused to give her a decidedly appraising glance, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and then continued, "And men. Or whatever it is you might fancy." He let out a barely audible sigh. "But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable." He met her gaze steadily, and for the first time there was no humour whatsoever in his expression. "It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty. But confining."

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, due both to his unashamed appreciation of her and to his unexpected candour, Alessa blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. "So... what is it that you fancy, exactly?"

The question was a mistake, she knew it as soon as the words had been uttered, but it was too late to take them back. Zevran arched a brow at her and the roguish smile that was becoming all too familiar played on his lips. "I fancy many things," he said, his voice laden with amusement and innuendo. "I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong." His eyes were locked on hers, leaving no room for doubt that he was quite deliberately, specifically, talking about _her._ "I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting." His breathing quickened, and he leaned in closer. "Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?"

Alessa felt her cheeks grow warm, and she resisted the impulse to turn around and see if Alistair was watching. She fought a sudden urge to draw her sword; the elf was far too close for comfort, and it made her feel unexpectedly vulnerable. "Offended?" she said, trying to keep her tone casual. "No, not at all. But you're wasting your time, you know."

He grinned. "Oh? I disagree; time spent talking to a beautiful woman is never a waste." She sighed in exasperation, and he chuckled.

"You know what I meant."

Zevran sighed melodramatically. "Indeed I do." He glanced behind them. "You and he are... intimate, then?"

"No!" she said sharply, her face growing ever hotter. She was glad Alistair was behind them, and hopefully unable see her blushes. "At least... not in the way _you_ mean, anyway."

"Oh?" Zevran said again, smirking. "And what do I mean, dear Warden?"

Alessa blushed furiously and remained silent.

Zevran laughed. "That shade of pink is most attractive on you, you know."

She glared at him. "You never give up, do you?"

He bowed his head slightly. "What can I say, eh? I mentioned, did I not, that I am an optimist?" He smiled flirtatiously, and she looked away. "And if you are _not_ intimate with your fellow Grey Warden, then there is yet hope for me, no?"

"No," she said firmly.

There was no response, and Alessa glanced at the elf, to find his intense golden eyes locked on her. "Oh, it is like _that_, then," he said quietly. "You love him, yes?"

Trapped by the unexpected question, she panicked. "You presume too much, Zevran," she warned, her tone sharper than she had intended.

How could she discuss such things with a near stranger, when she was not even certain what her own feelings were?

She'd barely begun to realise that she _had_ feelings for Alistair. She hadn't yet taken the time to consider what those feelings meant, or how deep they might run. They had caught her by surprise, but she knew herself well enough to realise now that they'd been growing for a while, without her even being aware of it.

Fear of losing him had brought them to the surface, and now that they were there, she had no choice but to acknowledge them.

_But love?_

She wasn't sure she was ready to be in love with Alistair. She wasn't sure she was ready to be in love with anyone.

And what room was there for love, anyway, when they had a Blight to contend with?

Zevran bowed his head stiffly in acknowledgement of her answer, looking slightly wounded at the blunt response. "My apologies, dear Warden." He smiled, and it was a chilly, dangerous smile. "But I believe we were talking about my leaving the Crows. As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one..." He shrugged. "I truly can't imagine." He pondered for a moment, and added, "It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course." He looked at her steadily. "For now, naturally, I go where you go."

Alessa raised her eyebrows. "For now? You expect that to change?"

He laughed mirthlessly. "_Everything_ changes, my friend." There was a moment's silence, and his remark seemed to hang between them, almost tangible. Then he suddenly chuckled, and this time it seemed more natural. "Come now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so."

oOo

_Alistair watches the assassin move away from Alessa, and wonders what passed between them. It had taken more than a little self control for Alistair to resist the urge to stride forward and throttle the elf when he'd leaned in so close to her like that, especially when it had clearly made Alessa uncomfortable._

_But Alistair is beginning to learn that she dislikes him trying to fight her battles for her, especially the ones that don't involve swords, so he'd clenched his fists and let her deal with it herself, which he knows she's more than capable of doing._

_She still seems unsettled, though. If he could see her face he's certain her expression would be calm and composed. But there's something about the way she's holding herself, a slight tension in her shoulders, a slight stiffness in her back, that tells him that Zevran has rattled her, somehow._

_He sighs, wondering if she'll tell him what they spoke about if he asks._

_Probably not. And most definitely not, if he asks her right now, with everyone around._

_He finds himself wondering how long it is until they'll be making camp, and he might be able to steal some time alone with her again. There are things he wants to say, if he can just figure out how..._

_He suddenly realises that Wynne has fallen into step beside him. And she has the oddest smile on her face as she meets his gaze._

"_Why are you smiling like that?" he asks uneasily. "You look suspiciously like the cat that swallowed the pigeon."_

"_Canary."_

_This seemingly random response completely throws him. "What?"_

"_I look like the cat that swallowed the _canary_," Wynne corrects him patiently._

"_I once had a _very_ large cat," Alistair explains, "but... not my point. My point is, why are you smirking?"_

_Wynne chuckles unexpectedly. "You were watching her. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were... enraptured."_

_Alistair follows Wynne's glance towards Alessa, and his jaw drops._

_He was _concerned._ He was _not_ enraptured._

_Was he?_

_Oh Maker, was he really staring?_

"_She's our leader," he protests hastily, trying – unsuccessfully, he suspects – to sound indignant instead of guilty. "I look to her for guidance."_

"_Oh, I see." Wynne nods. "So what guidance did you find in those swaying hips, hmm?" Her eyes twinkle with a mischief he would have expected from Zevran, or maybe Leliana, but _definitely_ not Wynne._

"_No, no, no," Alistair says, feeling himself start to blush. "I wasn't looking at... you know, her... hind... quarters."_

_Wynne is clearly unimpressed by his tongue-tied denial. "Certainly."_

"_I gazed... glanced! In that direction. Maybe. But I wasn't staring. Or really seeing anything, even." Great, now he's actually babbling._

"_Of course," Wynne nods, and her smile says plainly that she's not buying a word of it._

"_I hate you," he mutters, defeated. "You're a bad person."_

_There is no malice behind his words, and Wynne simply chuckles. _

oOo

Shortly after midday, Alistair stopped abruptly and drew his sword, looking tensely to their right. He looked round as Alessa walked towards him. "Darkspawn," he said quietly, answering the unspoken question in her eyes.

And suddenly Alessa realised she was aware of it too. She couldn't have put into words what she was feeling; it was like an almost imperceptible _tugging_ at her very blood, a faint incoherent whisper in her mind, a kind of sick feeling inside that made her skin crawl. It was all of those, and none of them.

She drew her own weapons, and the rest of the party followed suit, although Zevran's expression was dubious.

His doubt turned to vigilance a moment later, and he pointed off into the woods to their right, alerted by some sound. Alistair, Alessa and Sten formed a line facing in the direction he indicated, and moments after that, they all heard the sounds of creatures crashing through the woods. When the large group of darkspawn charged out onto the path, they met a group fully prepared to do battle.

The darkspawn outnumbered them, and the fight was bloody; if not for Wynne's healing, things might have gone badly. But they were becoming used to fighting as a team, used to each other's tactics. Zevran had no such familiarity, but he quickly took advantage of the wall formed by the three warriors to dart behind the darkspawn attacking their line, and use his blades to deadly effect. Leliana and Morrigan fell to either side, raining arrows and spells into the darkspawn ranks, while Wynne kept up her near-continuous casting of healing and re-energising spells.

After the hours of walking, the fight was invigorating, and Alessa was almost sorry when the last hurlock fell.

As they started once more on their way, Alessa was startled by a dull thud behind her, followed immediately by Leliana's urgent cry. Expecting more darkspawn, she and Alistair whirled, to see Wynne lying on the ground.

With a gasp, Alessa rushed to her; Leliana was already at the older woman's side, helping her up.

"She just collapsed," Leliana said, worry in her eyes.

"I... fell," Wynne corrected wearily.

"Are you all right?" Alessa asked her in concern.

Wynne met her gaze, and Alessa was shocked to see equal concern in the mage's eyes. "For a moment there, I thought I was... I thought it was all over..." Wynne said, sounding both relieved and perturbed.

"Thought _what_ was all over?" Alessa asked, truly worried now.

"Everything," murmured Wynne hollowly. She caught Alessa's expression and gave her a smile that was intended to be reassuring, but was anything but. "I... I will explain everything when we make camp." Her voice grew steadier and more confident as she added, "Now is not the time."

Reluctantly, Alessa nodded, but she remained close to the mage for a while as they continued on their way, watching her with concern.

oOo

"I have a thought." Morrigan's voice was a slow purr in her ear, and Alessa turned to find the apostate's eyes fixed intently on her.

"What's on your mind, Morrigan?"

Morrigan glanced ahead towards Wynne, who was talking quietly with Leliana, and then deliberately slowed her pace. With a sigh, Alessa matched it and waited until Morrigan deemed the distance between them and their nearest companions was sufficient to avoid being overheard.

"We have an opportunity that I believe we should take advantage of."

Alessa frowned. The mage's tone was suddenly markedly more neutral than usual, and her words seemed hurried. "And what might that be?" she asked coolly, suspecting that, whatever it was, she was not going to like it.

Morrigan nodded. "To the point, then: my mother was once divested of a particular grimoire by a most annoying templar hunter. It occurred long before I was born, but even today Flemeth speaks of the loss with great rage."

"I don't see what that—"

"With the Circle of Magi in such disarray," Morrigan continued, her tone becoming more persuasive, "it occurs to me that this might be the perfect time to recover the tome from their possession, for surely it eventually ended up in their hands."

Alessa stared at the apostate incredulously. Surely Morrigan did not expect her to condone ransacking the Circle Tower in order to steal this book? But if the hopeful look on her companion's face was any indication, that was exactly what she expected.

Biting back an indignant retort, Alessa took a breath, and chose a more diplomatic response. "Why is this grimoire important to you?"

"'Tis a book of spells," Morrigan explained, with a touch of reluctance, "of the sort that Flemeth has dabbled with throughout her long life." Seeing Alessa frown, she added, "'Tis not the sort of thing that would benefit a mage of the... standard variety." Her eyes flicked momentarily towards Wynne, and Alessa thought she detected a trace of contempt in the apostate's voice. "They were taught a different path. I, however, was taught by my mother. I know a way around the wards my mother would have placed on such a tome. I know the language that she would have written it in. _I_ would find such a tome... most useful."

Alessa nodded slowly, considering Morrigan's words. If she was telling the truth, the grimoire was of no use to the Circle; but Morrigan might learn spells from it that would potentially be of great help in fighting darkspawn, perhaps even in defeating the archdemon itself.

But the templar had to have removed the book for a reason. And Morrigan had said that Flemeth had been furious at being deprived of it. What harm might the knowledge contained in it bring?

Suppressing a slight shiver, she shook her head slowly. "We can't afford the time right now to return to the Circle Tower, Morrigan. The search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes is our priority." Morrigan's eyes narrowed slightly, and Alessa sighed. "_If_ we have occasion to return to Kinloch Hold... well, I'll certainly keep it in mind."

_And do what?_ she wondered. _Ask Irving very nicely if we can please see his stash of secret and dangerous books?_

Morrigan held her gaze for a moment with those penetrating yellow eyes of hers, and then nodded. "'Tis all I ask." She gave a faint sigh. "I am most interested to see its contents, should it be located."

The two walked on in silence for a while, until curiosity got the better of Alessa. "Can I ask you something, Morrigan?"

The apostate glanced at her warily. "If you must."

"You spoke of the templar who removed your mother's book as if being hunted by templars was not an uncommon occurrence. Did that happen often?"

"My mother has been hunted from time to time, yes." Morrigan's lip curled in faint amusement. "By templar fools like Alistair, which should tell you how successful they generally were."

Alessa bristled at that. "Alistair is no fool."

Morrigan smiled insincerely. "No? As you would have it. Still, the templars who hunted us invariably were. Flemeth would make a bit of a game of it, in fact. The templars would come again and she would look at me and smile and say that the fun was to begin once more."

"Fun?" Alessa asked disbelievingly.

Morrigan shrugged. "I found the _game_ fun, yes. I was too young to understand the truth behind what was happening. Flemeth would warn them, once. 'Twas a warning they inevitably failed to heed." She smiled slightly, but there was an uneasiness about it. "And then the true game began. Often, Flemeth would use me as bait. A little girl to scream and run, and lure the templars deeper into the Wilds. And to their doom."

"Flemeth used her own daughter as _bait_?" Alessa was horrified. "Morrigan, that's awful."

Morrigan shrugged again. "'Twas a game, and I a young girl. If I didn't get to play, I would have been very upset. I did not understand the danger we faced until I was much older."

"And now that you do?"

Morrigan looked away. "I think that my mother made it into a game so that a child did not learn to fear. And I think that it was necessary." She met Alessa's gaze once more, and her expression was hard. "There are no trials for apostates, no prisons... no mercy. There are only absolutes, so only survival matters. If the Wilds have taught me anything, 'tis this: first, you must survive." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you disagree?"

"I..." Alessa hesitated. She had been brought up to believe that things were black and white; either something was right, or it was wrong. But her life since joining the Grey Wardens had taught her that things were not always so simple. Lives had been ended at her hand, to ensure the survival of herself and her companions, and not all of them had been darkspawn or villains. "I don't know. Before Ostagar, before the Blight... yes, I would have disagreed. But now?" Her voice softened. "You've led a unique life, Morrigan, and it could not have been an easy one."

Morrigan looked surprised. "I... have never thought of it in such a way. 'Twas all I knew, after all." Her eyes narrowed, and her lip curled into a sneer. "Flemeth kept me safe, and free. I have no need of your pity."

Alessa shook her head. "I don't pity you, and I'm not judging you. I'm simply trying to understand the life you've led, and the person it has shaped you into."

The apostate's sneer deepened. "So that you may more accurately assess my weaknesses?"

"No, of course not!" Alessa's reply was indignant. "And if you didn't keep yourself at arm's length from everybody all the time, you would know me better than that." She sighed. "Not everyone is out to get you, Morrigan. I know that's a hard concept for you to grasp, because it goes against everything Flemeth's ever taught you – but if you'd just stop being so damned defensive all the time, you'd see it for yourself. I'm actually trying to be your friend. So would the others, if you gave them a chance."

_Well, perhaps not Alistair_, she thought ruefully.

"I..." Morrigan's usual haughty confidence slipped away, leaving the apostate looking confused and vulnerable. "Perhaps... perhaps you are right. 'Tis something to be considered, at least."

Alessa nodded, and gave her a reassuring smile.

Just for a moment, there was a faint, answering smile on Morrigan's face, and then her expression returned to its normal indifference. "Well, let's get on with it before the ground opens up and swallows us, yes?" Without waiting for an answer, the apostate picked up her pace and drew away from Alessa, catching up with the rest of the group.

Chuckling to herself, Alessa followed.


	22. Leliana's Past

**Leliana's Past**

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and when they finally made camp, Alessa drew Wynne to one side. "Are you feeling better now?"

Wynne seemed surprised, despite her earlier promise to explain everything when they reached camp. "Oh. Yes, and thank you for asking. I'm feeling much better now." She sighed. "I think I owe you an explanation for what happened earlier."

Alessa nodded. "I would appreciate that. You had me quite worried."

"You should know that... something happened to me at the tower, before you came along." Wynne's manner was hesitant, and Alessa waited patiently, allowing the mage to tell the story at her own pace. "Remember my apprentice, Petra? She encountered a demon in the tower. It would have killed her had I not intervened." Wynne paused, and met Alessa's eyes gravely. "I saved her life that day, but I did not survive that encounter with the demon."

Alessa looked at the mage in confusion, and frowned. "Is that supposed to be a joke, Wynne? Because it's a really poor one."

Wynne smiled faintly. "It's not a joke, I promise. Let me explain. I engaged a very powerful demon to rescue Petra. It sapped me of all my energy and will, and left me drained. It took everything I had to defeat it, and when I was done I no longer had the strength to keep my heart beating." Wynne looked down, and Alessa noticed that she was trembling slightly. "I remember my life ebbing away; everything receded from me – sound, light... I remember being enveloped in complete, impenetrable darkness." She looked up, meeting Alessa's concerned gaze, and there was wonder in her eyes. "And then I sensed a presence, enfolding me and cradling me, whispering gently to me. The sensation is... impossible to describe. I was being... held back, firmly, but gently, as a mother would a child eager to slip from her grasp. I felt life and warmth flowing through my veins again. I began to be aware of small sounds, the discomfort of my hip pressing into the cold stone of the tower floor."

Alessa tried to process this. "So this presence, it... healed you?"

Wynne shrugged slightly. "Perhaps, but it was far beyond my own healing magic, or that of any other mage I have known." She gazed off into the distance. "The Fade contains spirits both benevolent and malicious. The benevolent spirits seldom make themselves known, because they want nothing from mortals, unlike the demons. It was one of these benevolent spirits that saved me. Without it, I would be dead – I am certain of that. And it has not left me. It is with me, even now, bonded to me." She smiled. "You see, I am supposed to be dead. It is the spirit that is keeping me in this world, and this is not the way of things." The smile faded. "Perhaps the spirit did not expect this, but it is weakening, gradually. I am living on borrowed time."

Alessa swallowed. "How long?"

"I do not know. I can feel when the spirit weakens, so I should have fair warning." Wynne smiled again, although it seemed to Alessa to be slightly forced. "But come, let us not talk about this. There is time yet."

Alessa nodded, and stared sadly after Wynne as she turned away. Even in the short time she had known the mage, Alessa had grown fond of her, and Wynne's news was troubling. Though it was better to know, than not, she supposed.

With a sigh, she turned to see that Alistair had already got a campfire lit, and now seemed to be starting preparations for an evening meal. She moved towards the campfire, intending to help him, only to be intercepted by Leliana, who asked in a solemn murmur if they might talk.

Despite a deep reluctance to hear any more bad news, Alessa hesitated only a moment. She remembered Alistair's comment from the night before about Leliana seeming sad; the bard was smiling as usual, but her pale blue eyes seemed troubled. Nodding, she allowed the other woman to pull her aside.

"I lied to you, you know," Leliana confided as soon as they were out of earshot of the rest of the group. "About why I left Orlais." She seemed uncharacteristically fretful, and she fidgeted nervously, unable to keep her fingers still.

Alessa nodded. "I had a feeling there was more to your story," she said quietly.

Leliana cast her gaze downwards. "I didn't feel like talking about it then. What happened to me.." She glanced up at Alessa, not quite meeting her gaze directly. "Maybe it will affect us, maybe not, but you should know." She sighed, and continued, "I came to Ferelden and the Chantry because I was being hunted, in Orlais."

"Hunted?" Alessa echoed in surprise. "What for?"

Leliana's eyes filled with sorrow. "I was framed, betrayed by someone I thought I knew and could trust. Marjolaine – she was my mentor... and friend. She taught me the bardic arts – how to enchant with words and song, to carry myself like a high-born lady, to blend in as a servant... The skills I learned I used to serve her, my bard-master, because I loved her, and because I enjoyed what I did."

"You loved her?" Alessa asked, startled by the emphasis that Leliana had given the word. It didn't sound as if the bard was speaking about someone who had simply been a friend..

Leliana smiled sadly. "She was a remarkable woman. I cannot fully express the admiration I had for her, or the depth of my affection." She sighed faintly, looking down again. "I thought I knew her. My devotion to her blinded me to her... less than noble attributes. You can say it was my fault." She met Alessa's gaze. "There was a man I was sent to kill. I was to bring Marjolaine everything he carried. I don't know who this man was. She gave me a name, and a description, and I hunted him down. I found documents on his body – sealed documents." Leliana's voice shook slightly, and she paused.

"You opened them, didn't you?" Alessa prompted gently.

Leliana smiled ruefully. "My curiosity got the better of me. Something told me that I needed to know what was in those letters." She sighed. "Marjolaine had been selling all kinds of information about Orlais to other countries – Nevarra and Antiva, among others. It was treason."

"But... isn't that what bards do?"

"Some," Leliana agreed. "But I had always assumed Marjolaine only operated within Orlais. This was an unhappy surprise for me."

"You were disappointed in her?"

Leliana shook her head. "Not for that, no. My life as bard taught me that my loyalties should be kept fluid. My concern was not that she was a traitor, but that her life would be in danger if she was caught." She gave Alessa a humourless grin. "Orlais has been at war with so many countries. It takes a harsh view of such things... as I later discovered."

Alessa caught her breath. "What happened?"

"I should have left well alone, but I didn't. I had to tell Marjolaine I feared for her life." Leliana let out a dry laugh. "She brushed aside my concerns. She admitted her guilt, but said it was in the past. That is why the documents had to be destroyed, she said." Leliana's eyes darkened with pain. "I believed her. I kept believing, up till the moment they showed me the documents, altered by her hand to make _me_ look the traitor."

"Oh, Leliana," Alessa murmured. "She betrayed you?"

"Yes." There was a world of hurt in the single, quietly spoken word. "The Orlesian guards – they captured me... did _terrible_ things to make me confess and reveal my conspirators." Leliana shuddered, her expression so sorrowful it tore at Alessa's heart. "It was a traitor's punishment I endured, and at the end of it, all that awaited was eternity in an unmarked grave."

"How did you get out?" Alessa asked, horrified.

Leliana grinned wryly. "The skills Marjolaine taught me were good for something, at least. I broke free when I saw the opportunity. I did not seek Marjolaine out," she added, answering Alessa's question before she could ask it. "If she thought I was coming for her, she would have me caught again."

"You never sought revenge?" Alessa said sceptically. She couldn't imagine letting something like that slide, however prudent a course of action it might have been.

"I was tempted to confront her; I was furious, betrayed – but what could I do against her?" Leliana sighed. "Survival was my only concern at the time. And so I fled, to Ferelden, to the Chantry and the Maker. Ferelden protected my person, and the Maker saved my soul. And that is the reason I am here. The real reason. No more lies between us, at least in this."

Alessa reached out and clasped the bard's arm. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

Leliana smiled faintly. "It feels good to have this off my chest. Thank you for listening, and understanding." She hugged Alessa impulsively, and then turned to go.

"Leliana..." Alessa said hesitantly, and the bard looked back. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask... Could any of this be a threat to us?"

Leliana shook her head. "I do not think so. I have seen not a shadow of an Orlesian since I came to Ferelden."

Alessa nodded, and they returned sombrely to the campfire.

Alistair looked up as they approached, and whatever witty remark he was about to make died on his lips as he caught Leliana's expression. Looking from her to Alessa, he raised his eyebrows quizzically, but she shook her head slightly at him. He gave her the faintest of nods to let her know he understood; what had passed between the two women was private, and not for public discussion.

Alessa gave him a grateful smile, and took a seat beside him. "So, what's for supper?"

oOo

As she paced the camp's perimeter, Alessa glanced back towards the fire. She had welcomed the opportunity to stretch her legs during their watch, but to her surprise Alistair had declined to walk with her. He was staring intently at something in his hands, now. The light from the fire wasn't enough for Alessa to see what he held, but whatever it was, it seemed to have captured his entire attention.

Overcome with curiosity, she cut short her patrol and walked towards him. As he noticed her, an expression of guilty surprise passed fleetingly across his face, followed by something that almost looked like panic. For a moment she thought he would hide the mystery object away, but he glanced down at it and then gave her a nervous smile.

"Here, look at this," he said quietly, holding it out for her inspection as she took a seat beside him. "Do you know what this is?"

It was a perfect, deep red rose.

She met his eyes, puzzled by the flower and by his earnest expression.

"Your secret weapon against the Blight?" she teased, grinning at him to cover her uncertainty; a trick she seemed to have picked up from him.

He chuckled softly. "Yes! That's right. Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!" He lifted the flower to his nose and made a show of breathing deeply.

Alessa giggled at the mental image.

He smiled, and then sighed. "Or, you know, it could just be a rose. I know that's pretty dull in comparison."

"Where did you even find it?" Alessa couldn't recall the last time she'd seen anything other than wild flowers on their travels.

"I picked it in Lothering," he confessed. "I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?'" He sighed. "I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come, and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

She stared at him, surprised by the emotion in his voice. "That's a lovely sentiment, Alistair."

He looked intently at her, and something about his expression made her catch her breath. "I thought... I thought that I might... give it to you, actually," he said softly, holding it out to her. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

She took the rose, stunned into silence. Forming coherent thoughts, let alone a response, seemed suddenly impossible. "I… I don't know what to say," she managed at last.

He looked down. "I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it?" He raised his gaze again to meet hers, and she was surprised to see sadness in his eyes. "I just thought... here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining; not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death, and fighting, and tragedy." He sighed. "I thought... maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this... darkness."

Alessa stared at him, overcome with emotion.

_That's... the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me._

She laughed nervously. "So... are we married now?"

_Now who's using humour as a shield?_ she berated herself inwardly.

His eyes widened momentarily, and then he caught the teasing tone and chuckled awkwardly. "Ha! You won't land me that easily, woman!" He grinned. "I know I'm quite the prize, after all; no need to start crying on me or anything."

Alessa chuckled with him, but her emotions were in a whirl.

Alistair's grin faded. "I guess it was, uh, just a stupid impulse." He looked at her uncertainly; he seemed to be holding his breath. "I don't know… Was it the wrong one?"

"No," she whispered, looking at the rose in her hands. "It wasn't. Thank you, Alistair."

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you like it," he murmured, and then added hesitantly, "Now... if we could... move right on... past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."

Startled, she looked up. He was blushing, but also smirking, and as she met his gaze he winked.

Realising he was just teasing her, Alessa matched his smirk with one of her own. "Thought you'd never ask. Let's get you out of that armour, then."

Alistair choked out a strangled laugh. "Hah! Bluff called!" He turned towards the fire, his face turning scarlet, and pushed a hand nervously through his hair. "Damn! She saw right through me!"

Alessa felt her cheeks growing a little hot as well, but she found his embarrassment endearing – and oddly comforting. It was reassuring to know that he wasn't simply trying to bed her, she realised. After all, if she'd wanted _that_, she had only to look as far as Zevran.

He grinned apologetically, and stood up. "I think it's my turn to take a walk." He chuckled, nervously. "Until the blushing stops. Just to be, uh, safe. You know how it is." He walked off into the darkness, and she stared at the rose, unable to stop smiling.

oOo

After he returned, they sat for a while in awkward silence. Casting about for something with which to break it, Alessa broached a subject that had been on her mind for a while. "Alistair? What changes about us after the Joining?"

He glanced at her in surprise. "You mean, other than becoming a Grey Warden?"

She held his gaze. "I mean, the Joining _changes_ us, right? It makes us immune to the taint, gives us dreams... So, what else does it do?"

He nodded slowly. "Hmm. You know, I asked Duncan this too, and all I got was, 'You'll see.'"

Alessa raised her brows. "You just try that line on me, and see what happens."

He grinned suddenly. "Oh, I have other lines for you, trust me," he murmured suggestively. She rolled her eyes, smiling. He cleared his throat and continued, "It's not that Duncan wanted to keep it a secret. It's just that the Grey Wardens don't... didn't... discuss it much. It's not a pleasant topic, I guess."

"Oh?"

"The first change I noticed was an increase in appetite. I used to get up in the middle of the night and raid the castle larder." He grinned. "I thought I was starving. I'd slurp down every dinner like it was last, my face all covered in gravy." He chuckled at the memory. "When I'd look up, the other Wardens would stare... then laugh themselves to tears."

Alessa frowned. "I haven't felt anything like that."

Alistair raised his brows. "Really? Because I was watching you wolf down food the other day, and I thought, 'Ooh, it's a good thing she gets a lot of exercise.'" He grinned to take the sting out of his words.

She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a growing girl."

"I'll say," Alistair responded without thinking, eyeing her appreciatively. Catching her indignant expression, he looked suddenly nervous. "Uh... I didn't mean it like that. Heh." He cleared his throat, watching her warily. "No, don't hit me! I bruise easily!"

She couldn't keep the grin from her face, and he relaxed.

"Oh, and then there were the nightmares, of course," he added, changing the subject. "Duncan said it was part of how we sense the darkspawn. We tap into their... Well, I don't know what you'd call it. Their 'group mind'? And when we sleep, it's even worse. You learn to block it out after a while, but at first it's hard." He looked at her, concern in his eyes. "It's supposed to be worse for those who Join during a Blight. How is it for you?"

She shivered. "The nightmares... they're still bad. If there's a way to block them out, I haven't found it."

He took her hand. "Give it time," he said reassuringly. "Some people never have much trouble, but that's rare. Others have trouble sleeping their entire life. They're just more sensitive, I suppose." He sighed. "Everyone ends up the same, though. Once you reach a certain age, the _real_ nightmares come." He looked into the fire distractedly, and added quietly, "That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come."

Alessa frowned. "What do you mean?"

He turned to look at her, a slightly horrified expression on his face. "Oh, Maker," he said softly. "Duncan never had time to tell you that part, did he?" He swallowed. "Well," he continued, a forced levity in his voice, "in addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don't need to worry about dying from old age." He grinned weakly, and swallowed again. "You've got thirty years to live. Give or take."

Alessa tried to process this. "The taint?" she whispered.

He nodded miserably. "It's a death sentence. Ultimately your body won't be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle rather than... waiting. It's tradition."

"So I'm going to die," she whispered hollowly.

His hand tightened around hers. "We're all going to die." He looked intently at her. "When Duncan told me, I was _angry._ He put his hand on my shoulder, and said this: 'It's not how you die that's important. It's how you live.'"

She nodded and exhaled slowly. She could die at any moment battling darkspawn, after all. And thirty years... well, that was a long way off yet. What was there to get upset about, really?

Besides the feeling of betrayal, of course. Duncan should have _warned_ her.

She felt her hands balling into fists, and forced herself to relax. There was no-one to get angry at except Alistair, and she didn't want to take it out on him.

She took a deep breath. "So, why Orzammar?"

He shrugged. "You'll always find darkspawn down where the dwarves are. The oldest Grey Wardens head to the Deep Roads for one last glorious battle."

She nodded. That was something she could respect. Better to go out like that, than... well, than whatever it was the taint would do to you otherwise. She was sure it couldn't be pleasant.

"Not that there's a shortage of darkspawn during a Blight," Alistair added, "but that's the tradition. And the dwarves respect us for it." He gave her a wry grin. "And you wondered why we kept the Joining a secret from the new recruits! There you have it."

The image of Daveth's agonising death returned to her. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I never wondered that."

Alistair's expression became melancholy. "You know, Duncan... he'd started having the nightmares again. He told me that – in private. He said it wouldn't be long before he'd go to Orzammar himself." He looked down. "I guess he got his wish, in a way," he murmured. "I just wish it had been something worthy of him."

Alessa squeezed his hand. "He will be remembered, Alistair. As will the others."

He nodded. "I know." He met her gaze. "Ending the Blight... should make this all worthwhile, right?"

She nodded sombrely, wondering if she truly believed it..

After a moment's silence, in an attempt to lighten the mood she asked, "What was it like to be a Grey Warden, with all the others?"

"I didn't know them for very long," he replied, "but I guess it was longer than you. You never met them all, did you?" She shook her head, and he smiled. "They were quite a group. Actually, they felt like an extended family, since we were all cut off from our former lives. We also laughed more than you'd think." He grinned at a memory. "There was this one time..." He hesitated, studying her. "Well, you probably don't want to hear stories about men you didn't know."

"No, I'd like to hear about them," Alessa said.

He smiled and nodded. "There was one Warden who came all the way from the Anderfels." He paused, frowning. "What was his name? Gregor? Grigor?" He shrugged. "He was a burly man with the biggest, fuzziest beard you've ever seen." He grinned. "And the man could _drink_. He drank all the time, but he never got drunk! Finally we all made a pool to see just how many pints it would take to put him under the table." He chuckled.

Alessa raised her eyebrows. "Sounds like you had a lot of fun." She heard the surprise in her own voice; she had never really thought about it before, but now she had, she supposed it was obvious that Grey Wardens would let off steam just like any other group of soldiers might.

He smiled. "Sometimes. We were kin, of a sort. All of us had gone through the Joining, so we knew..." His smile faltered. "Well, it doesn't have to be deadly serious all the time." He took a breath, and smiled again. "Anyhow," he continued breezily, "we never did find out. He said he'd drink a pint for every half-pint the rest of us drank. He was still going by the time the rest of us were passed out." He chuckled. "I'm told that Duncan walked in later on and saw us all passed out from one end of the hall to the other, and Gregor still drinking! Duncan laughed until he nearly..." His broad grin faded and he faltered, hit afresh with the grief. "Until..."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have brought the subject up. I know talking about Duncan is hard."

He swallowed. "Yes. I... I suppose so." He shook his head. "I thought I was done with this, but..." He sighed heavily. "It just struck me that I have nothing to remember Duncan by. Nothing at all. Not even a token of his that I could... take with me." He looked away from her. "That must... sound really stupid to you."

She squeezed his hand gently. "It doesn't," she said quietly. "Not at all. I understand."

He met her gaze, and sighed. "Well, there's no use in moaning about it, is there?" he said heavily. "He's gone."

They lapsed into silence.

oOo

The next morning, before they left camp, Alessa hesitantly approached Wynne, and guided her away from the rest of the group. The mage looked at her curiously, but waited for her to speak.

Feeling self-conscious under the older woman's scrutiny, Alessa blushed slightly, and blurted out, "I was wondering if there was a spell you could use to preserve something?"

Wynne arched her brows, looking faintly amused. "Preserve 'something'? And pray, what might that 'something' be? Food, perhaps? The edge of your blade? A memory?"

Alessa hesitated, and then carefully unwrapped Alistair's rose from the length of linen she'd folded around it. Wordlessly, she handed the flower to Wynne.

The mage seemed unsurprised. She nodded, and murmured arcane words to herself as she moved her hand over the rose. The air around it shimmered and hummed briefly with power, and Wynne nodded in satisfaction. "There. It is now immune to the ravages of time." She smiled wryly. "In fact, it will most likely endure longer than any of us." She met Alessa's eyes as she handed the rose back. "You're quite taken with each other, aren't you?"

Alessa gaped at her, blushing. "I... we... what do you mean?"

Wynne smiled faintly. "It's hard not to notice the doe-eyed looks Alistair gives you, especially when he thinks no-one's watching. It's almost too sweet for my tastes, and I'm an old lady who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs."

Wynne's tone was gently teasing, and Alessa arched her brows. "You're not exactly the average old lady."

She expected a chuckle, but Wynne merely nodded, and Alessa suddenly noticed a sadness in her eyes. "No. I won't be making socks with pom-poms for you any time soon, but that's hardly my point." The mage sighed. "I've noticed your blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going. Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle, but quite inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart. I would hate to see him get hurt."

Alessa's mouth fell open in shock. "You... you think I would _hurt_ Alistair?"

"Not intentionally, no," Wynne replied seriously. "But there is great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you. You are both Grey Wardens, and you have responsibilities which supercede your personal desires." She sighed. "Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else." She smiled sadly. "A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"

Alessa swallowed. Wynne's argument was a sound one, she knew that; but she did not want to think of such things. "You're making things sound more dire than they are," she protested weakly.

"Nothing is certain," Wynne replied solemnly, "not in these times. You cannot take anything for granted. I want you to be aware of this."

"What exactly are you saying, Wynne? You want me to break up with him?" Alessa couldn't keep her voice from shaking, although whether from anger or fear she wasn't certain.

Wynne met her gaze squarely. "You may have to, to save one or both of you unnecessary anguish later on."

Alessa laughed bitterly. "So I should cause us both pain now, to avoid it later? That's wonderful logic."

Wynne sighed. "I have given my advice. Do with it what you will." She turned and walked away, back to rest of the group, leaving Alessa to consider the mage's words with a heavy heart.

_Is Wynne right? This... whatever it is that Alistair and I have, could it be dangerous? To us, to the others, to our duty? Should we end it now, for everyone's sake?_

She stared at the rose in her hand, and knew the question was pointless. Whatever happened now, she had already walked too far down the path to turn back. Even if she were to follow Wynne's advice, Alistair was in her heart, and nothing would remove him.

oOo

The morning's travels were uneventful. The day was chilly but bright, and no darkspawn interrupted their trek. The party chatted easily amongst themselves, speaking mostly of their lives before the threat of the Blight had drawn them together. Alessa even managed to draw Morrigan into sharing some tales of her life in the Korcari Wilds.

After a brief stop to rest and eat some lunch, they continued on towards Denerim. Alistair estimated that they would reach the city some time the following day.

As the afternoon wore on, their path took them through a pleasant wooded valley, but in spite of the tranquil surroundings, Alessa noticed that Zevran became more alert, his eyes darting around constantly. When she challenged him about it, he shrugged and acknowledged that, to his assassin's eyes, it was a perfect spot for an ambush.

Slightly alarmed, Alessa asked if he had any reason to expect an attack. Zevran shrugged again. He had the feeling they were being followed, he said, but admitted he had been unable to find any evidence of it.

The idle chat died down for a time after that, but despite Zevran's concerns, no ambushes were forthcoming, and they eventually made camp in a suitable clearing. Zevran scouted the area, and pronounced the surrounding woods clear, but Alessa noted that the elf still appeared troubled, and did not relax his guard.

Trusting to his senses, she cautioned the party to remain alert as they prepared and ate their evening meal. The fireside chatter was subdued, and when Morrigan announced her intention to clean up at the nearby stream, Alessa suggested that Alistair go with her to stand guard. Both of them protested strenuously, but Alistair reluctantly gave in to her insistence that none of them should venture out alone.

To Alessa's surprise, however, Morrigan abruptly nominated Sten for the duty instead, with a wicked smile on her face. Sten regarded the apostate impassively, and walked off without a word. Morrigan's smile widened, and she followed him, deliberately ignoring the astonished looks from the rest of the party.

"What was _that_ all about?" Alistair asked in disbelief. "No, never mind," he amended, shaking his head. "I don't want to know. I _really_ don't."

After they returned, Alessa set off with Leliana and Wynne. As they approached the stream, she found her nerves were jangling, and she chided herself for letting Zevran's anxiety get the better of her.

And then an arrow buried itself into the tree trunk next to her head.

Yelling out a warning, Alessa dove to the side and tucked herself into a roll, coming to her feet and drawing her weapons in a smooth movement to face the man that charged out of the woods towards her with murder in his eyes.

Out of the corner of her own eyes, she noted that Leliana had her bow out and was already loosing arrows into the woods, in the direction of the unseen archer. Wynne was casting protective spells.

Alessa met her attacker's sword thrusts easily, but to her dismay, she saw another two other men emerge behind him. Neither were carrying bows, which meant the archer was still unaccounted for, somewhere in the cover of the woods.

Her heart hammered. They were outnumbered, and ill-prepared to fend off a concerted attack. The new arrivals moved to either side of the first man, flanking Alessa, and although she employed every move and trick she knew, she could not parry all their blows at once; a sword bit into her thigh, and she stumbled backwards with a gasp, her leg giving out beneath her. With her balance compromised, she staggered and fell.

As she crashed to the ground, she knew a moment's fear as the men closed in. Leliana screamed in fury behind her, and then an answering shout came from behind their attackers. The men whirled, sudden panic in their eyes, to face the combined onslaught of Alistair and Sten, their blades already whirling, and a snarling mabari. Behind them, she saw Morrigan, her expression angry, lightning crackling around her raised hands as she cast her spell.

Alessa felt a wash of healing energy flow over her leg wound, and threw a grateful nod to Wynne before darting to her feet to add her blades to the attack. Now it was the bandits who were flanked, and fighting desperately for their lives.

The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. As the last man fell to Alistair's sword, Alessa looked round, fully taking stock of her surroundings for the first time since the attack had begun. She frowned suddenly. "Where's Zevran?"

"Here I am." As if on cue, the assassin strolled nonchalantly out of the woods, pushing a fourth bandit before him. His dagger was at the man's throat, and he had the man's bow slung across his shoulder.

Alistair glared at the archer, and raised his sword.

"Stop." Leliana said quietly, and he turned in surprise. "Don't kill him."

"Why not?"

"He is no common bandit," Leliana said tensely. "None of them were. Their weapons and armour are of fine make, and they were well-trained."

Zevran nodded approvingly, and the mercenary sighed – whether in relief or resignation, Alessa couldn't tell.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?" Leliana said, approaching the man. "Who are you?"

The man swallowed and winced in pain as Zevran's dagger bit fractionally into his throat. Alessa motioned to the elf, and with a sigh Zevran removed his blade, leaving a thin line of blood behind it.

The mercenary swallowed again and coughed. "Someone who regrets taking you on," he muttered bitterly in response to Leliana's question. "Was told it would be an easy job. Kill the little red-haired girl, deal with the others as we pleased."

Leliana took a step back, shock and confusion in her face. "Kill the... you came to kill _me_?"

Alistair was no less incredulous. "What? Maker's blood, who would want to kill Leliana?"

Alessa caught the bard's eye. "Could this have something to do with..." She hesitated, mindful of the fact that Leliana had not wanted the rest of the party to know what she had confided to Alessa. "With Orlais?" she finished.

Leliana wilted visibly, closing her eyes. "It could," she sighed. "You may be right."

Alistair frowned at Alessa, but she shook her head slightly at him. Now was not the time. Zevran was already looking at the bard with curiosity burning in his eyes.

Leliana's expression hardened, and she opened her eyes, taking a step towards the mercenary again. "Who sent you? Why am I wanted dead?"

The man coughed again. "It don't pay to ask why someone wants someone else dead. I just need to know what to do, and where to get my money." He snorted derisively. "Ha, money. I'll be lucky to get away with my life, it seems." He regarded Leliana hopefully. "Maybe we could work something out? You'll like the idea."

Leliana glanced at Alessa, who nodded. The bard turned her attention back to the mercenary. "Speak quickly." Her tone was cold.

"I've no real quarrel with you," the man said quickly. "Wasn't me that wanted you dead. But I know how you can find the one who does."

"Your life for the information, then," Alessa said. "And don't try to deceive us. Zevran there," she waved her hand towards the assassin, "will know if you're lying."

Zevran raised an eyebrow at her in amusement at her bluff, and pressed the point of his dagger into the man's throat again for a moment, as if to add emphasis to the threat.

"No lies," the man agreed readily. "I have some directions written down, on how to get to the house. It's in Denerim." He moved his hand gingerly towards his belt pouch, the other hand held out to indicate his good intentions, and withdrew a folded scrap of paper, which he held out to Leliana. "Here... it's the best I can do."

"Thank you," Leliana said icily. "Now leave. I never want to see you again."

"Yes, go," Alessa agreed. "Be grateful for your life." She gestured towards Zevran, who pouted at her before releasing the man with a dramatic sigh.

"Don't worry. I'll not trouble you no more." With a last wary look at Zevran, the man disappeared into the woods.

Alessa relaxed, tension flooding out of her. Alistair moved swiftly to her side, his gaze taking in the wound on her leg. "Are you all right? When I heard you yell, I feared..."

"I'm fine," she assured him with a smile, "thanks to your timely arrival." She sighed, and rubbed uselessly at the spattered blood she could feel drying on her face. "But now I _really _need to clean up."

Alistair frowned. "Well, I'm not leaving you unguarded while you do, not after this." Alessa arched her brows, and he reddened, adding, "I'll... ah... just be over there. Up the path. Looking, um, that way," he gestured in the direction of the camp. "Obviously." He turned scarlet, and Leliana giggled.

Alessa smiled gently at him. "Thank you. I would be glad of it."

Zevran arched a brow. "I could stand guard as well... if you wish." It was Alessa's turn to blush, as the elf favoured first her, and then Leliana, with a nakedly appraising look.

"That won't be necessary, Zevran," Alessa said coolly, before Alistair could explode. "We'll see the rest of you back at camp."

oOo

_Alistair concentrates on studying the trees in front of him, fighting the urge to turn his head for a peek, because that would be wrong. And bad. And just generally N__ot A Good Idea__._

_Not to mention that he's supposed to be _protecting_ her. _

_Them. Protecting _them.

_The sounds of splashing are bad enough, but Maker, __must they _giggle_ like that? Well, he's pretty sure Wynne isn't giggling, but the other two… He can hear Leliana and Alessa speaking in low voices, and although he can't make out any words, he's almost positive it's about him, and whatever it is, they both seem to be finding it most amusing._

_He doesn't think it can get any worse, but then he hears them climbing out of the stream, and he can't stop his imagination from working overtime, picturing Alessa standing there, and oh, look, there's a bird, and it's flying towards the stream, and would it really be his fault if he inadvertently let his eyes follow it and in the process caught an accidental glimpse…?_

_His cheeks burn just at the thought, and he makes a conscious effort to keep his eyes where they should be._

_It's a good thing he's wearing his armour, because his face isn't the only part of his body reacting to his wayward thoughts, and at least the armour hides that. But on the other hand, his armour is kind of restrictive, and ow, that's uncomfortable._

"_Alistair?"_

_He nearly jumps out of his skin, because her voice is coming from right behind him, and how did she get that close without him hearing?_

_He didn't hear her dressing, either._

_Andraste's flaming sword, is she standing behind him _naked_?_

"_You can turn around now," she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. He closes his eyes for a moment, and then takes a deep breath and turns._

_He lets out his breath in a sigh when he sees she is, after all, fully clothed. Whether it's a sigh of relief or disappointment, he doesn't want to examine too closely._

_Then he notices that her linen tunic is clinging damply to her skin, and sweet Andraste, that's not helping one little bit._

_She steps closer and stands on her toes to kiss him on the cheek, and that's not really helping either, but he's not about to tell her that, because if she knew the thoughts that are running rampant through his head right now, she might never want to kiss him again, and the kissing is quite nice._

"_Thank you," she says quietly. _

"_W-what for?" he stammers in confusion._

"_For standing guard." She smiles, her eyes dancing. "And for being such a gentleman."_

_Yep, that's him, a gentleman. Except he's pretty sure a gentleman isn't supposed to be thinking the kind of things he's been thinking…_

"_Any time," he says, trying to sound suave and innocent and reliable, only it comes out all throaty and suggestive, and oh, Maker, now Leliana's giggling again, and even Wynne is trying to hide a smile._

_Alessa pretends not to notice, and her smile doesn't falter, thank the Maker. _

_She gathers up her armour and weapons and starts heading up the path back to camp, then looks back at him in surprise. "Aren't you coming?"_

"_Uh…" He can feel himself reddening again. "I, uh… I think I'm going to… take a quick dip, myself, first."_

_Leliana giggles again, but Alessa just nods. _

_He waits until they've passed out of sight before stripping his armour and clothes off and jumping into the stream._

_The water is mercifully cold._

oOo

"It's Marjolaine," Leliana said. "It has to be."

Alessa looked at the bard in surprise. She'd suspected, when Leliana remained at the campfire with her and Alistair after the others had retired to their tents, that the other woman wished to talk about the earlier encounter. But she hadn't really expected her to discuss it in front of Alistair.

"Marjolaine?" he prompted quietly.

Leliana sighed, and nodded. "Alessa is already aware of my... history... with this woman. But after tonight, I think perhaps you need to know as well, since it seems my past has put us all in danger." Once again, the bard recounted the tale of her Orlesian bard mistress's betrayal, leaving nothing out. Alistair raised his eyebrows in surprise at some of the revelations, but listened in silence.

"But why now?" Alessa asked.

Leliana shrugged. "Maybe someone saw me. Maybe she's finally found me and wants to finish what she started." She swallowed, looking forlornly into the fire, and on an impulse Alessa leaned over and hugged her. Leliana looked up, tears in her eyes, and hugged her back.

"What do you want to do?" Alistair asked after a moment.

Leliana sat up straighter and wiped her eyes. "She needs to answer for what she's done to me. When we reach Denerim, I... I would like to seek her out."

Alessa nodded. "Then that's what we shall do – all of us. You are not alone in this, Leliana." Alistair murmured his agreement.

Leliana smiled gratefully, and returned her gaze to the fire. "Perhaps it's time to settle this score for good." She sighed, and stood. "I should get some rest. Thank you both."

Alistair waited until the bard was safely inside her tent before turning to Alessa. In a low voice, he tentatively asked, "When she said she _loved_ Marjolaine... did she... did she mean...?" He trailed off.

Alessa smiled at his embarrassment and nodded. "I think so, yes."

"Oh." He ingested this information in silence for a moment. "Wow." He sighed. "Poor Leliana."

"Yes."

They sat quietly for a while, watching the flames dancing before them.

"So, all this time we've spent together..." His voice was so soft that she could barely hear him, but breaking the silence as it had, it still startled her. She turned to him, her surprise showing her in eyes, and he looked suddenly nervous. "You know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us..." He hesitated, and took deep breath. "Will you miss it once it's over?"

The look in his eyes was intense, and she noticed that, in the firelight, they almost looked like pools of liquid amber. She swallowed, her heart suddenly pounding.

"Miss the battles?" she asked quietly. "Or miss you?"

Alistair winced slightly at her perceptiveness, and gave her a wry grin which gave way to solemnity almost immediately. "I know it... might sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long, but I've come to..." He hesitated again, studying her eyes intently. He swallowed. "...care for you. A great deal."

Something inside Alessa fluttered wildly, but without giving her time to respond, he was already continuing, apparently feeling the need to justify his declaration. "I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together. I... I don't know." He shrugged forlornly, and looked down at his feet. "Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself." He glanced nervously back up at her. "Am I? Fooling myself?" He swallowed. "Or do you think you might ever... feel the same way about me?" His gaze was locked hopefully on her, and she was slightly distressed to see that he bore an expression uncannily reminiscent of a puppy hoping for a treat, but expecting a kick instead.

She caught his hand in both of hers, and raised it to brush her lips lightly against his knuckles. Alistair's eyes widened at the contact.

"I already do, you idiot," she said softly. "If you're fooling yourself, then you've got me fooled too."

A smile spread slowly across his face. "So I fooled you, did I?" he murmured, leaning in towards her. "Good to know." And then he was kissing her, and all conscious thought fled from her mind as she found her arms going around him, pulling him closer.

It seemed an eternity later, and yet somehow also much, much too soon, that he broke off the kiss and pulled away from her, studying her with sudden nerves. "That... that wasn't too soon, was it?"

Alessa smiled playfully, her eyes sparkling. "Hmm... I don't know. I think I might need some more testing to be sure."

Alistair grinned. "Well, I'll have to arrange that, then, won't I?" He relaxed, and sat straighter, never taking his eyes off her. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he breathed, gazing at her in wonder as if seeing her for the first time. Alessa's heart skipped a beat. "I am a lucky man." He took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips briefly, mimicking her earlier gesture. "Now," he said, clearing his throat, "since we're supposed to be on watch, we should probably get back to, you know, _watching_, lest I forget why we're here." He smiled at her. "I wouldn't want any darkspawn sneaking up on us while I was... um... distracted. That could really put a dampener on things. Not to mention being a bit embarrassing to explain to the others."

Alessa chuckled and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and held her close, dropping a light kiss on to the top of her head as he did so. 

_

* * *

_

__

A/N: This chapter, like the one before it, is rather dialogue-heavy, and mostly game dialogue at that, so I apologise for that. The next chapter should hopefully have a little more happening in it!

_As always, thank you to all of those that are continuing to read this story. I appreciate each and every one of you, but most especially those who take the time to leave feedback and let me know what you thought. _


	23. Denerim

**Denerim**

There was an air of unease in Denerim's market district. Alessa couldn't put her finger on anything in particular, but something felt... off.

It wasn't outright fear; in spite of the refugees flowing into the city, and camping outside it in makeshift settlements, Denerim's citizens felt secure within their high city walls. But the market district was the lifeblood of a large city, and if things weren't right here, then they weren't right elsewhere in the city, either.

Alessa wondered if it was the influence of Howe and Loghain making itself felt. The people wandering around the market district might not know everything they should about their new arl and regent, but perhaps they sensed something amiss even so.

Alessa's lip curled. She had promised herself she wasn't going to dwell on thoughts of Howe, or Loghain. Last time they'd been in Denerim, she'd almost allowed her hatred of Howe to lead them all into disaster. She would not make that mistake a second time.

Alistair frowned at her, sensing something of her mood. "What's wrong?"

Alessa gave him a wry smile. "It's nothing. I just don't like being here, that's all." She sighed. "Let's just get this done and get out of the city."

"No arguments here," he agreed.

oOo

Weylon's face paled and his eyes widened when he opened the door and saw Sten scowling at him from the back of the group, and Morrigan smiling sweetly at Alessa's side.

"Y-you're back..."

"I see you remember my friends," Alessa said pleasantly. "We must talk; you won't mind if we come in, will you?"

The act didn't sit well with her, but she and Alistair had agreed that a public confrontation would draw too much attention. So she fixed a smile on her face, and kept her hands away from her weapons.

Weylon swallowed nervously, looking from one to the other. Alessa could almost see his thought process on his face; he clearly didn't want to let them in, but he also had no idea much they knew. And if his job was to ensure that whatever had happened to Brother Genitivi remained covered up, he would have little choice but to go along with the pretence of being helpful.

"Of course," he muttered, and stood back, gesturing for them to enter. Alessa motioned him to precede her into the main room, and he reluctantly did so, looking uneasily over his shoulder.

"Did you find Brother Genitivi?" he asked, sweat beading on his brow as Zevran closed the door behind them.

Now safely hidden from curious bystanders, Alessa dropped the show, her fake smile giving way to a scowl. "You know full well we did not. You sent us on a wild goose chase, leading straight into an ambush."

"'Twas a very _poor_ ambush," Morrigan added with a sneer. "A mistake your fellows paid for with their lives."

Weylon's eyes narrowed, flashing with anger. "Then my brothers died in the service of Andraste," he snarled. "May She draw their souls to Her and cast yours into oblivion!"

He raised his hands before him, and Alessa cursed under her breath as she saw lightning begin to crackle between them. He had to know he was hopelessly outnumbered, but it seemed he was determined to take his secrets to the grave with him – just as his fellows at The Spoiled Princess had done.

"Alistair, stop him casting!"

Wynne's shout was unnecessary; Alistair already had his eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was thus unprepared when the full force of Weylon's magical lightning blast took him in the chest, knocking him to the ground with a pained groan.

The lightning arced outwards, lancing through Alessa and Sten before jumping to Leliana and Dane. Alessa's breath was ripped from her and she stumbled, falling to one knee.

Dimly she saw Zevran dart forward. "Don't... kill..." Her words were barely audible even to herself. "Zev..."

If he heard her, he gave no sign. The assassin launched a vicious kick at the mage's legs, probably only intended to throw him off balance and interrupt his concentration. But the kick landed just as Morrigan cast a particularly successful freezing spell. Weylon's knee was shattered, and the helpless mage toppled sideways. As if in slow motion, Alessa watched in horror as Weylon's frozen head impacted the edge of the solid oak table in the middle of the room, and then it, too, shattered like glass.

Wynne's healing magic washed over Alessa, and she turned to see the faint blue glow settling momentarily over Alistair. He groaned, and grasped Alessa's outstretched arm. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly, pulling him him.

Alistair nodded. "I'm fine. Especially compared to him." He jerked his head towards Weylon's remains, and grimaced. "What a mess."

Following his gaze, Alessa had to agree; the ice was already melting away, leaving behind revolting remnants that she had no desire to inspect closely.

"So much for getting information," Alistair commented, sharing his glare equally between Zevran and Morrigan.

The elf shrugged, looking faintly disturbed by the results of his actions. "That was not quite the outcome I had intended," he muttered.

Morrigan sniffed huffily. "'Twas unfortunate timing, 'tis true. But this man was a powerful mage, and not to be trifled with. Had I not acted when I did, he might easily have killed one of you."

"It's all right, Morrigan," Alessa interceded. "It wasn't anyone's fault. And we know one thing, at least – he was definitely involved with the cultists, and not simply some unwitting pawn of theirs." She sighed. "Let's just search the place, and hope there's some clue to be found." She glanced round, and Weylon's remains caught her eye once more, making her stomach churn. "And someone please find something to cover him up."

Leliana fetched a blanket from the bedchamber, while Zevran went to work on the locked door at the end of the room. Quickly circumventing the lock, he slipped inside, and then almost immediately reappeared in the doorway, fixing Alessa with a steady gaze. "You will want to see this."

It was immediately obvious what 'this' was; another body lay in the corner of the storage room. Ironically, Alessa noted, this one too was covered with a blanket. She held her breath as Zevran gingerly pulled the blanket back, but this corpse was mercifully intact.

The young man bore a superficial resemblance to the mage they had fought outside, and Alistair sighed. "I'm guessing that's the _real_ Weylon."

Zevran looked up. "I see no obvious wounds or evidence of poison. I would wager this man was killed by magic."

Alessa nodded. "So the cultists had him killed, and left one of their own to take his place. And the imposter sent anyone who came looking for Genitivi to The Spoiled Princess, for his fellow cultists to deal with." She sighed heavily. "None of which gets us any closer to finding out what _did_ happen to Genitivi, although I suppose it's safe to assume he's dead."

"Perhaps not." Alessa turned to see Leliana straightening up from a chest, with a well-worn journal lying open in her hand. "Listen to this," the bard said. "'The village of Haven in the Frostbacks seems a good place to start. Pity it's not on any maps.'"

Alistair shook his head dubiously. "If that's supposed to be Genitivi's journal, why is it here, and not with him?" He looked at Alessa. "Couldn't this just be the setup for another ambush?"

"I do not think so," Leliana said, a trace of pride evident in her voice. "The writing matches a ledger I found in the bookcase outside. A very _detailed_ ledger. And this journal has entries going back several years, many of them quite mundane. If both ledger and journal are both forgeries, they are very elaborate ones." She smiled. "And for a trap to be effective, it must be found, yes? Yet this journal was locked away."

Alessa nodded. "I think Leliana's right." She looked around. "Has anyone ever heard of this Haven?"

The question was met by shrugs and shaking of heads.

Alessa sighed. "I guess we'll just have to head for the Frostback Mountains. If this village exists, someone in the region must know of it."

"Do you think Genitivi actually found the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Alistair asked, his voice tinged with hope."

"I think he found _something_," she nodded. "Something that people throwing Andraste's name around seem very determined to keep anyone from finding." She met his gaze grimly. "If these cultists are going to such lengths to prevent anyone following in Genitivi's footsteps..."

"Then that someone knows that there are footsteps to follow, no?" Zevran finished.

Alessa nodded. "I fear Brother Genitivi may have found much more than he bargained for."

oOo

Now feeling more urgency than ever to complete their business in Denerim, they set off in search of the person who had sent the mercenaries after Leliana. The directions on the scrap of paper led to a small but imposing house in a quiet alley off the main market square.

Alessa looked round to ensure they were unobserved, then cautiously tried the door. It was not locked.

Already on edge after the incident at Brother Genitivi's house, and mindful of a possible trap, Alessa asked Zevran to remain outside and keep watch for any trouble. The rest of the group warily entered the house.

The first room was empty, but in the second room an attractive dark-haired woman dressed in fine clothes lounged in a armchair, surrounded by elegant and expensive furnishings. A pair of sheathed, ornately handled daggers rested on the table by her side, and heavily armoured guards stood alertly at the sides of the room.

Leliana sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the woman, who did not appear at all surprised by their entrance. "Leliana!" she exclaimed, a chilly smile forming on her face. Her Orlesian accent was pronounced, and Alessa suspected that she was deliberately exaggerating it. "So lovely to see you again, my dear..."

"Spare me the pleasantries, Marjolaine. I know you're—"

"Oh, you must excuse the shabby accommodations," Marjolaine continued, as if Leliana hadn't spoken. She gestured around her. "I try to be a good host, but you see what I have to work with?" Her lip curled in distaste. "This country smells like wet dog. Everywhere. I cannot get the smell out. Even now it is in my hair, my clothes... ugh."

Dane growled deep in his throat, his hackles rising. Alessa put a hand on his head, and he subsided.

"The mercenaries you sent after us are dead," Alessa told the woman, her tone icy. "You might wish to refrain from insulting us."

Marjolaine looked amused. "Mercenaries are expendable. And this way, I don't have to pay them." Her expression hardened. "But I am not unarmed, or unguarded, as you see." She gestured around her again, and Alessa caught a glimpse of a robed man, presumably a mage, lurking in one of the side rooms. "So perhaps we just talk now, yes?"

"You framed me," Leliana burst in angrily, and Alessa could hear the hurt in her voice. "Had me caught and tortured. I thought that in Ferelden, I would be free of you, but it seems I am not." She swallowed, and blinked back sudden tears. "What happened to make you hate me so? Why do you want me dead so badly?"

"Dead?" scoffed Marjolaine. "Nonsense! I know you, my Leliana. I know what you are capable of. Four, five men... you can dispatch easily." She smiled. "They were sent to give you cause to come to me. And see? Here you are."

"You could have just sent her a letter," Alistair remarked drily.

"Ignore what she says," Leliana warned. "She is lying. I know how she works." She turned back to her former bard mistress. "What are you up to, Marjolaine? Why are you in Ferelden?" Her voice was harder than Alessa had ever heard it.

"In truth?" Marjolaine shrugged. "You have knowledge that you can use against me. For my own safety, I cannot let you be." She smiled unpleasantly. "Did you think I did not know where you were? Did you think I would not watch my Leliana? 'What is she up to?' I thought. 'The quiet life, the peasant clothes, hair ragged and messy like a boy... this is not her.'"

Leliana unconsciously ran a hand through her hair, and said nothing.

"You were planning something, I told myself," Marjolaine continued. "So I watched... but no letters were sent. No messages. You barely spoke to anyone." Her eyes narrowed. "Clever, Leliana, very clever. You almost had me fooled. But then you left the Chantry, so suddenly. What conclusion should I draw? You tell me."

Leliana frowned. "You think I left because of you? You think I still have some plan for... for revenge?" She shook her head in disbelief. "You are insane. Paranoid!"

"Not everything is about you, Marjolaine." Alessa added, her eyes narrowed. "Leliana left Lothering with us, because she wanted to help us fight the Blight. There was no ulterior motive."

"Oh?" Marjolaine scoffed. "Is that what you think? If I were you, I would believe nothing she says. Not a one." Her reply was for Alessa, but her gaze rested on Leliana, studying the effect her words had on the bard. "She will use you. You look at her and you see a simple girl – a friend, trusting and warm." She turned to Alessa. "It is an act."

Leliana flushed in anger, and her brows drew together. "I am not you, Marjolaine. I left because I didn't want to become you."

Marjolaine smiled. "Oh, but you _are_ me. You cannot escape it. No one will understand you the way I do, because we are one and the same."

Leliana shook her head, wordlessly denying the accusation.

"Do you know why you were a master manipulator, Leliana? It is because you enjoyed the game; you revelled in the power it gave you. You cannot change or deny this."

Dismay flared in Leliana's eyes, but she remained silent.

"What you speak of is in the past," Alessa told Marjolaine coldly. "I trust Leliana. Your words will not change that."

Leliana looked at Alessa, clearly touched. "Thank you." Her expression grew grim, and she turned back to the Orlesian woman. "You will not threaten me or my friends again, Marjolaine. I want you out of my life, forever."

"Leliana has put the past behind her," Alessa added. "I advise you to do the same."

"Leave Ferelden," Leliana said, and both her tone and her expression were frosty. "Go back to Orlais and never return. What you do is no longer my concern."

Alessa took a small step forward, her hands on her weapons, making it clear what the consequences would be should the woman decide to ignore Leliana's suggestion. On Leliana's other side, Alistair did the same, and the others arrayed themselves in battle readiness.

Marjolaine's men tensed and readied themselves to attack, but Marjolaine herself regarded them all silently for a moment. "I see." She made a gesture, and her men reluctantly took their hands from their weapons. The Orlesian woman rose gracefully to her feet, gathering up her daggers but giving no sign of unsheathing them. "I will go, for now. But you carry a dangerous secret of mine, Leliana." She studied the bard coolly. "It is not over. Not for us."

With another peremptory gesture, she stalked past them, her men warily watching Alessa and her companions as they followed.

When the door closed behind them, Alessa let out the breath she had been holding.

"She's gone," Leliana said shakily. From the sound of her friend's voice, Alessa guessed she wasn't the only one who hadn't expected Marjolaine to leave quietly.

"For good?" Alistair asked hopefully.

Leliana shook her head, looking down at the floor. "I don't know what to think. She said it wasn't over." She looked up, and there was worry in her eyes. "No... she was lying. She won't come back." She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more so than anyone else.

Alessa took a step towards the bard, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Leli?"

Leliana flinched slightly and looked away. "I... I need some time to think. We... will talk later."

oOo

They exited the house warily, half expecting to be ambushed. To Alessa's relief, there was no sign of Marjolaine or her guards.

There was no sign of Zevran, either.

Leliana looked at Alessa, her eyes wide with alarm. "If Marjolaine has done something to him... Oh, this is all my fault."

"I'm certain Zevran can take care of himself," Alessa said soothingly, although in truth she was a little troubled herself. The assassin had never disappeared before.

"Maybe he just saw the perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed," Alistair suggested drily, earning him an exasperated look from Alessa, and a glare from Leliana.

When several more minutes passed with no sign of Zevran, Alessa began to outline plans to search for him. Before they could put them into action, however, the missing elf sauntered around the corner.

Leliana gave a little cry of relief and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around the assassin. Zevran returned the embrace automatically, grinning over her shoulder at Alessa, and then frowned as he felt the bard trembling in his arms.

"Where were you?" Alessa demanded.

Hearing the concern in her voice, Zevran gave Alessa an amused look. "The Orlesian woman and her entourage came out, and you did not," he explained. "I noted that none of them bore signs of a recent fight, and concluded that you were in no imminent need of rescue. That being the case, it seemed prudent to follow the woman and discover her plans, no?" He smirked. "Did you fear for my safety, my dear Warden? Or did you simply miss my devilishly handsome face?" He grinned lasciviously and arched a brow.

Alessa rolled her eyes and refrained from dignifying his remark with a response. Leliana sniffed, and extracted herself from Zevran's arms, smacking his shoulder when he didn't immediately let her go. The elf gave her an exaggerated pout, which the redhead pointedly ignored.

"So where did Marjolaine go?" Alistair prompted, scowling at the assassin.

"To the docks," Zevran replied. "She appears to have booked passage on a ship bound for Val Royeaux, by way of Jader."

"So she _is_ returning to Orlais." Alessa exhaled slowly, and nodded. "Good. Then our business in Denerim is done, I think. We should leave straight away."

Zevran frowned slightly. "Before we depart, I noted a... curiosity... on my way back here that I believe you should see." He turned on his heel and strode off, motioning them to follow.

Alistair caught Alessa's eye, still frowning. "This had better be something important," he muttered. Alessa shrugged and followed Zevran. With a heavy sigh, Alistair fell in beside her.

oOo

The 'curiosity' proved to be a poster affixed to a wall. It bore a small, crude rendition of the Grey Wardens' symbol at the bottom, like a signature, and the text above it was cryptic.

"Don't believe the lies," Alistair read out in a low voice. "Friends of the Grey Wardens assemble. The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffons will rise again." He turned to Alessa, his brows raised. "Friends of the Grey Wardens? Could this be for real?"

"'Tis far more likely to be a trap, surely," Morrigan remarked. Zevran nodded his agreement.

Alessa considered the possibilities. "Zevran, could this be something the Crows have set up?"

Zevran shook his head without hesitation. "The Crows would likely be more... sophisticated... in their approach." He shrugged. "Or more direct. This does not seem like their work to me, no."

Alessa nodded. "Then it's probably not meant for us. My guess is that someone's reaching out to Grey Warden sympathisers, rather than Grey Wardens themselves." She looked at Alistair, her expression troubled. "The question is, for what reason?"

Alistair's face darkened. "It could be a trap set up by Loghain. Maybe he hopes he'll find someone he can use to get to us. Or he just wants to eliminate any support for us." He shrugged. "Or it could be genuine. But if it is, Loghain's men are just as likely to see it as anyone else."

Alessa nodded. "Either way, it can't be good." She reached out and ripped the poster from the wall. "We'd better find out which, before innocent people get hurt in our name." She studied the poster in her hand. "The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance," she murmured, and looked around at the others. "Anyone have any idea what that means?"

Zevran suddenly grinned widely. "As it happens, I believe I do." He looked positively delighted.

"And?" Alistair prompted impatiently.

Zevran beamed at him. "There is an... establishment... near the docks district, that goes by the name of the Pearl." The elf appeared to be enjoying himself greatly.

"What kind of an establishment are we talking about, exactly?" Alessa asked, frowning.

Zevran's grin grew wider still. "The kind where one might go for discreet... companionship."

Alistair flushed scarlet. "A brothel?" he asked, in a strangled tone. "You're suggesting we go to a _brothel_?" He looked at Alessa with a scandalised look on his face, and she felt her own cheeks growing warm at the thought.

Zevran chuckled. "I believe that is the more polite term for it, yes. Although I myself have always preferred to call it a whorehouse. So much more honest, yes?" He arched a brow playfully.

Alistair's cheeks went redder still. "You... language like that... there are _ladies_ present!" he spluttered.

Zevran laughed aloud at his discomfort.

oOo

"Are you sure about this?" murmured Alistair, glancing sideways at the door to the Pearl before returning his gaze to Alessa.

She shrugged. "If you have any better ideas, now would be the time to share them."

He sighed. "No... but..." He sighed again. "Fine. But maybe you and Leliana and Wynne should wait out here, and let us take care of it."

"And not I?" Morrigan piped up in an affronted tone. "You feel no need to shelter me from this den of iniquity?"

Alistair snorted. "I figured _you'd_ feel right at home. Your morals are already pretty fluid, and you don't exactly exude innocence and propriety."

Morrigan glared at him. "Perhaps, then, we should be more concerned about _you_ entering such an establishment."

Alistair flushed and opened his mouth to retort, but subsided when Alessa put a hand on his arm. "I appreciate the sentiment, Alistair, but I'm a big girl. I'm sure I can handle whatever's in there."

Zevran smirked. "For a price, one can most assuredly handle whatever one fancies."

"Zev!" Alessa felt herself blush. "That's not what I meant and you know it!" The elf laughed, and Alessa growled a curse under her breath. "Let's just get this over with. And you!" She glared at Zevran. "Behave yourself."

He feigned innocence. "But of course, my dear Warden!"

Shaking her head, Alessa pushed open the brothel's door, and walked inside.

"Why _do_ they call it a brothel?" Alistair muttered as they walked down the innocuous-looking hallway. "There's no broth." He looked at Alessa, raising his eyebrows. "Or is there?"

She rolled her eyes. "And you think I would know, because...?"

He reddened again. "Sorry."

She smiled, and then turned her attention to the room they were entering.

At a casual glance, she might have mistaken the place for an ordinary tavern. A group of raucous men filled one corner of the room. At other tables, a few scattered patrons were drinking quietly, in twos or threes. Some were playing cards, others merely talking.

"Ahh," Zevran sighed appreciatively. "I grew up in a place such as this." He winked at Alessa. "They say you can never go home again, but for ten silvers an hour you can get pretty close."

Alessa rolled her eyes and resumed her study of the surroundings. On a closer look, she noted the serving girls that were moving among the tables were rather more provocatively clad than the average tavern wench, and seemed friendlier and more confident.

As Alessa watched, one of the group of boisterous men pulled a serving girl onto his lap, and rather than taking offence, she giggled at him and allowed his hands to wander freely for a moment before extricating herself. She smiled back over her shoulder as she walked away, adjusting her clothing.

Alessa felt her cheeks colouring and looked away. Her gaze fell on Alistair; he looked extremely uncomfortable, and appeared to be trying his best not to see anything at all.

"Welcome to the Pearl!" The warm voice startled her, and Alessa turned to see an older woman with a pleasant smile walking towards them. "I'm Sanga, the proprieter. Have a seat, get comfortable, and tell me what you need." She smiled and gestured around. "Every one of my people here is a skilled craftsman, and don't let anyone tell you different."

Zevran made an appreciative sound deep in his throat. Alessa blushed, and a matching flush spread across Alistair's face. She opened her mouth to correct the woman, but Sanga was already barrelling on with her greeting. "You'll have to go one at a time, I'm afraid. Our rooms aren't quite big enough to share between so many."

"No, we—"

"So what would you like me to show you?" Sanga carried on breezily, smiling at each of them. "The men or the women? Or some of both, if you prefer."

Alistair made a strangled noise. Zevran chuckled. "Choices, choices..."

Alessa glared at the assassin. "I said _behave_." He smirked unashamedly at her. She turned back to the proprietor and cleared her throat. "We're not here for... _that_." She looked round and lowered her voice. "A poster suggested we might find... uh... a meeting of friends, here."

Sanga's expression darkened, and her smile faded. She jerked her head towards the door leading to the back rooms, her expression unreadable.

Alessa nodded; Sanga bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement and then walked away. Alessa turned to the others, keeping her voice low. "Whatever's going on back there, the proprietor doesn't seem happy about it. I'm going to take a look, but perhaps the rest of you should wait here, to avoid drawing too much attention."

"You're not going back there alone," Alistair protested instantly. Zevran nodded in agreement.

"All right," Alessa agreed. "Alistair and I will go. The rest of you, stay alert."

Alessa approached the door to the back rooms with Alistair at her heels. Two men – bouncers, she guessed – moved to block their path, but when Alessa glanced back at Sanga, the woman gestured to the guards, who moved aside.

Beyond the door lay a corridor stretching to their left and straight ahead, with several doors leading off it. Most of the doors were closed, and as they passed one of them, Alessa could hear sounds coming from inside – a man grunting with effort, and a woman moaning enthusiastically.

"Oh, Maker," Alistair muttered, turning scarlet.

The sounds grew louder, and Alessa's cheeks grew hot. She glanced at Alistair, catching his eyes; they grew wide as they met hers, and he immediately looked away, growing redder still. Without a word, Alessa strode past the door, and Alistair hurriedly followed her.

The last door on the left had a poster nailed to it. There were no words on this one, simply another crude rendition of a griffon.

"I guess this is what we were looking for," Alessa murmured. Rapping quickly on the door, she tried to push it open, silently praying to the Maker that she wasn't about to walk in on something unseemly.

She needn't have worried; the door didn't open. In response to her knock, she heard feet walking towards the door, and a muffled voice called out, "What's the password?"

_Password?_

Alessa glanced at Alistair, who simply gave her a baffled shrug. She frowned in thought, running through the wording of the poster again in her mind. "Uh... the griffons will rise again?" she hazarded hopefully.

The sound of bolts being drawn back confirmed that her guess was right. "Come in, quickly," the voice said.

Alessa gave Alistair a triumphant grin, and pushed the door open. Alistair glanced nervously behind them, and then followed her into the room.

Two armoured figures stood before them; a man, and a female elf. Another man lounged against the wall behind them.

Alessa glanced round automatically when she heard the door close; a fourth man in leather armour had moved behind them, and as she watched, he pushed the bolt back into place.

They were trapped.

Alessa silently cursed her own stupidity. She'd been so caught up in her own cleverness at guessing the password...

The first man smirked at them. "More Grey Warden supporters."

The elf's eyes narrowed. "Not just supporters, Paeden. Those _are_ Grey Wardens." She pointed at Alessa. "_She's_ the one Arl Howe is looking for."

Alessa stiffened at the mention of Howe's name, everything else forgotten. She felt Alistair tense beside her as she eased her weapons out of their scabbards.

Paeden smiled unpleasantly. "Our trap landed the Cousland girl?" He put a hand on his sword pommel, and the man behind him straightened up. "You've got one chance to surrender."

Alessa's lip curled. "Surrender? To Howe's lackeys? I don't think so. You're dealing with _real_ Grey Wardens, remember?"

Paeden grinned. "We're no common guards, girl. We're Howe's elite." He glanced at his companions. "Let's kill ourselves a Warden."

Alessa and Alistair drew their weapons as the group attacked. Mindful of the man behind them, Alessa quickly moved so she was back to back with Alistair, as he faced the trio before him. She parried the twin blades thrust at her with her own, grimly wondering what the chances of them prevailing against these odds were. The close quarters meant that the three that Alistair faced couldn't flank him, nor could they get past his shield arm to strike at her; but it also hampered their own freedom of movement, and she was more used to fighting at Alistair's side than at his back.

She heard Alistair's battle cry, and for a brief moment wondered if it would carry far enough for the rest of their party to hear. But then she recalled the bolt on the door.

She judged the distances, debating a feint to give her the chance to slip past her attacker. Could she reach the door quickly enough to unbolt it before he caught on? She thought so.

But doing so would leave Alistair's back unguarded. What if Howe's man went for Alistair instead of her? With his attention fully absorbed by the other three, he'd have no chance. She didn't dare take that risk.

She parried another blow, but the man's dagger slipped past her defences and slashed savagely across her wrist. The shock and pain caused her to lose her grip on her own dagger, just for a second, and it slipped from her hand.

The man before her grinned, twirling his blades ostentatiously, and she took a two-handed grip on her sword, holding it before her defensively.

Behind her, she heard Alistair bite back a cry of pain, and her heart hammered. She dared not take her eyes off her own attacker to see how badly he was hurt.

The man took a step towards her, his blades raised, but as he did so, the door behind him burst open with a crash of splintering wood. Howe's man whirled, startled, to face an angry qunari thrusting his sword towards him.

Beyond Sten, Alessa made out Zevran and Morrigan. "Heal Alistair!" she cried out urgently, hoping Wynne was close enough to hear. "He's injured!" Without waiting to see if her plea was heeded, she spun round and darted to Alistair's side.

A quick look showed her that he was favouring one leg, his breathing was becoming laboured, and blood was trickling down his temple; but he was determinedly holding off the trio of attackers. With barely a glance at her, he moved aside to make room, and she saw hesitation in the eyes of Howe's men as they looked at her and then past her, taking in the new odds.

Dane barrelled past her legs to leap at Paeden, fastening his jaws around the man's throat and tearing at the exposed flesh. Paedan screamed once as he was borne to the ground, and then lay still.

Alessa thrust at the elf with her sword, and as she did she felt the cool glow of Wynne's healing magic. Her arm stopped throbbing, and Alistair stood up straighter, putting weight on his injured leg again.

The third man was suddenly sheathed in ice from one of Morrigan's spells, and Alistair swung his sword at the elf, who found herself unable to parry both their attacks simultaneously. Alistair's blow knocked one of her daggers from her hand, and Alessa took advantage of the momentary distraction to thrust at her viciously; the sword pierced the elf's chest and she fell back, her eyes already glazing over.

Zevran slipped past Alessa to take care of the last attacker, and, just as quickly as it had started, the fight was done.

The sudden silence was broken by a thump and a groan from Alistair as he leaned heavily against the wall.

"Next time… we think… there could be a trap," he panted, "How about we not just walk into it?"

Laughing with relief as the realisation sunk in that they weren't, after all, going to die in this room, Alessa moved unsteadily towards him. "I'll think about it," she agreed.

He gathered her into his arms in a sudden hug, holding her as tightly as their armour allowed.

"You know," Zevran smirked, "if the two of you merely wished the use of a room, there _are_ easier ways to go about it."

oOo

Alessa expected an angry confrontation with Sanga – and her bouncers – to follow, but instead she found the proprietor was heartily relieved to have Howe's men dealt with. They had been too skilled and too well-connected for her to remove them from her establishment, or even to openly defy them, but she had been truly unhappy about their practices.

Worried that the woman might draw Howe's displeasure when he learned what had befallen his 'elite', Alessa urged Sanga to report the situation directly to Sergeant Kylon. Sanga's eyes betrayed her surprise that the Grey Wardens would concern themselves over her; she agreed to do so, and then assured Alessa that Howe would receive no word of their involvement from her. She even offered them a substantial discount, should they wish to take advantage of the Pearl's 'craftsmen'.

Zevran's eyes danced at the offer, but Alessa threw him a glare, and politely declined.

It was past time they were out of Denerim, before the trail of bodies they were leaving behind them began to draw unwanted attention.

Her plans to head straight out of the city were thwarted, however, by a small, scruffy child who ran up to them as they once again passed through the market district. "Message for you, m'lady."

Startled, Alessa accepted the folded piece of paper he pressed urgently into her hand. "Wait, who—?"

"More things to deliver," the boy said, already turning away. "Goodbye." He raced off, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Frowning, Alessa opened the note. Her eyes widened as she read the brief message, and then re-read it. Wordlessly, she handed the note to Zevran.

"What?" Alistair demanded in alarm, his attention torn between Alessa and the elf. "What is it?"

Zevran let out a slight sigh, and nodded. "Yes. _This_ is what I'd expect from the Crows."

"The... _what_?"

"The note claims to be from a representative of the Crows," Alessa explained. "He – or she, I suppose, there's no name – says they have an interesting proposition for us, and that if we wish to know more, we can find him or her in a back room at the Gnawed Noble."

"Andraste's flaming sword," Alistair swore quietly. "Then we get out of Denerim right now. I mean, it's got to be another trap. Hasn't it?"

Zevran shook his head. "I do not think so. The wording suggests that someone is interested in making a deal. It would be wise to find out who and why, yes?."

Alessa nodded slowly. "Zevran's right. If we have a chance to get the Crows off our backs, we ought to take it." She looked at the assassin. "But what about you, Zev? Should you just be strolling in there and letting them know you're still alive?"

The elf sighed dramatically. "Whoever sent this message knew precisely where to find you. It stands to reason they have been watching us. It is undoubtedly too late to deceive them with regards to my status, my dear Warden."

Ruefully, Alessa nodded. "Then let's pay a visit to the Gnawed Noble."

oOo

The Gnawed Noble tavern was a respectable establishment – outwardly so, at least, Alessa mused. It was comfortably furnished, clean and, at this time of day, relatively quiet. Most of the patrons wore clothing befitting those of noble status, and Alessa studied them all nervously, but she saw no familiar faces that might recognise her.

They ordered ales from the innkeeper, and once enough time had passed that every eye was no longer on them, Alessa slipped into the hallway leading to the tavern's private rooms, gesturing for Alistair, Zevran and Leliana to accompany her.

The first door they knocked on drew no response, and when she tried the door, Alessa found it locked. At the second, however, a measured voice bade them enter.

An unassuming man with thinning hair looked up from his seat on a couch, and motioned them to join him. Noting the two guards standing in either corner of the room, Alessa warily sat on the other couch, facing him across the small table. The others remained standing behind her.

"You got my note," the man nodded. It was not a question. "I am Master Ignacio. Maybe we have some things we can talk about."

"Just see the conversation stays civil," Zevran warned him, his voice hard and threatening. "If this is a trap, I—"

"Zevran, is it?" the Crow interrupted coolly. The assassin tensed, and Ignacio shrugged dismissively. "You are Taliesin's responsibility."

Zevran let out his breath in a faint hiss at the name, and Alessa looked at him curiously. The man smiled thinly. "Other Crows may try to kill you, but in my eyes, you are already dead." He fixed Zevran with a look that was suddenly icy cold. "So you are of no notice."

Zevran clenched his jaw, and bowed his head slightly to the man in acknowledgement.

"But the Wardens, here," the Crow continued, "they are of great interest to me." He returned his attention to Alessa.

"You were hired to kill us," Alessa said flatly. "Give me one reason why I should listen to anything you have to say."

"I can't stress enough that _I_ wasn't hired to do anything. An associate was, and he's failed..." He fixed Zevran with a hard stare. "And failed badly."

"I'd like to see _you_ do any better," Zevran snapped, his golden eyes flashing angrily.

"Do you take me for a fool? That's a contract I'd _never_ take." Ignacio snorted derisively, and then took a breath before returning his gaze to Alessa. "A client can always hire more... help… if the job isn't done the first time. But I'm hoping we can make sure that doesn't happen."

Alessa glanced behind her. "Is there any truth to what he says, Zevran?"

The assassin kept his eyes locked on Ignacio. "I've only heard of the one time the entire House of Crows was hired for a job. A princely sum changed hands and an entire noble family died. Not one soul survived." Reluctantly, he nodded. "Ignacio has the right of it. Generally, it is one master, one job."

"All right then," Alessa said, turning back to the Crow Master. "Say what you have to say. I'm listening."

"Ferelden is a... busy place," Ignacio said cryptically. "Blight, civil war, other mayhem. Lots of people not getting along." He gave her a thin smile. "Sometimes they _really_ don't get along. Maybe want to do something about it." He looked at her meaningfully. "The people that handle that sort of thing can get real busy." He watched her, apparently waiting for a response.

Alessa frowned.

_Is he suggesting what I think he is?_

"Grey Wardens are not mercenaries for hire," she said coldly. "And we are certainly not assassins. If you think we will do your dirty work for you, you are sadly mistaken."

Ignacio sat back stiffly and cleared his throat. "I... see. Then we are wasting time." He stood and bowed to Alessa. "No offence meant. You will not see me again." He snapped his fingers, and his two guards stepped to his side. Without any further word, Ignacio walked out of the room, with his guards following him.

Alessa let her breath out, wondering idly how long she'd been holding it.

"Well, he was right about one thing," Alistair said with a sigh. "This was a massive waste of time."

"Perhaps not," Alessa mused aloud. "He mentioned someone called Taliesin. Do you know that name, Zevran?"

"I do," the assassin confirmed, his expression uncharacteristically guarded. "And it is a subject I do not wish to discuss." He spun on his heels and stalked out of the room like an angry cat, leaving Alessa to exchange a dumbfounded glance with Alistair and Leliana.

"Well, _that's_ new," Alistair murmured. "I think we need to know more about this Taliesin, don't you?"

Alessa shook her head. "Leave it alone. He'll tell us when he's ready."

Alistair frowned, and looked for a moment as if he would argue, but instead he sighed. "Whatever you think is best." He pushed a hand through his hair. "But can we please get out of this damn city now?"

With that much, at least, Alessa was in wholehearted agreement. 

* * *

_A/N: Those following this story have probably noticed that this chapter has taken longer than normal, and unfortunately this is likely to remain the case for the remainder of the holiday season and probably for the foreseeable future, for a number of reasons. Rest assured, however, that I am continuing to work on this story, and will get the chapters out as regularly as I can. _

_As always, thank you to everyone reading for your interest in this story, and most especially to those who take the time to review. And Happy Holidays, one and all!  
_


	24. Haven

**Haven**

The sun was already sinking low when they finally left the city behind them, but they pressed on as long as they could; Howe would be bound to investigate when Paedan and the others didn't report in, and he and Loghain would undoubtedly suspect the Wardens' involvement no matter what Sanga and Sergeant Kylon told them. Alessa meant to be well away from Denerim before they could send out any search parties.

She found her way to Alistair's side as they walked. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He glanced at her in surprise. "For what?"

"Back there, at the Pearl... If you hadn't been there, if you hadn't kept all three of those mercenaries off me... I'd be dead if not for you, Alistair."

He flushed slightly, looking pleased, and shrugged. "I always have your back; you know that, right?"

"And I have yours," she assured him. "Although," she added with a sigh, "I could have had your back _better_, at the Pearl. I don't really know enough about fighting defensively, and I can't afford to let that continue. When we get to camp, will you give me some pointers?"

"Of course," he replied, but his brows knitted together in a frown. "But it's been a long time since I fought without a shield – I don't know if what I can show you will be of much use."

"Well, maybe it's time I learnt some shield work, too." She shook her head. "It's been too long since I learnt anything new, or even really practiced what I already know. Except in the heat of battle, of course." She grimaced. "I've become complacent, and that needs to stop, right now." She met Alistair's gaze sombrely. "It was stupid of me to confront those thugs of Howe's with just the two of us, and that stupidity, that _arrogance_, almost got us both killed."

Alistair frowned. "You didn't know we'd be outnumbered."

"Exactly, I didn't know. I should have been prepared for anything, but I just walked right in there like we were unstoppable." She shook her head. "We're not. And I don't intend to make that mistake again."

oOo

"Might I ask a favour, my dear Grey Warden?"

Alessa looked up warily; the assassin's low tone had her expecting one of his usual outrageous flirtations. To her surprise, she found a serious expression on his face. "What is it, Zevran?"

His gaze drifted past Alessa, his brow crinkling with concern. "Leliana... she is troubled, I think, by today's events. She will not speak of it to me, however."

Alessa looked over her shoulder, and immediately saw what held his attention. Leliana sat apart from the main bustle of activity around the campfire, as if deliberately distancing herself from everyone. She was seated with her back against a tree trunk, checking the fletching on her arrows, but her movements were listless, and she did not truly seem to be paying attention to her task.

Alessa nodded silently to the assassin, and passed him the ladle she had been stirring the stew with. As she stood, Alistair looked up from cleaning his armour, giving her a quizzical look. She inclined her head briefly toward Leliana, and Alistair nodded his understanding. His smile seemed faintly approving.

"Oh, hello," Leliana said, giving Alessa a vague, unfocussed glance as she sat beside the redhead. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"You seem a little distracted," Alessa said carefully, pitching her words somewhere between a statement and a question.

Leliana flushed slightly. "It's... it's nothing. I'm fine. I'm just thinking." The sadness in her voice belied her assurances.

"About Marjolaine?"

Leliana sighed and nodded. "I can't get what happened out of my head. I'd been in Lothering for _years_ and she still thought I was plotting against her." She shook her head sadly. "She didn't trust me. Maybe she never did. She loved me when she could use me and control me, and now that she can't, she wants me dead." Leliana hesitated, seeming to hear the bitterness in her own voice. "It... it hurts to realise that I never really knew her."

"Sometimes people surprise you." Alessa grimaced, thinking of Howe and Loghain.

Leliana nodded distractedly, not reacting to the bitter note in Alessa's voice. "I knew she was ruthless, but I didn't know how far she could go." She paused, frowning. "She is self-serving, cruel... She uses people, then discards them, but that's how she survives in the life she leads." She looked at Alessa, who was surprised to see fear in her friend's eyes. "W-what if she's right? What if we're the same? I... I should just have stayed in the Chantry."

Alessa shrugged. "I doubt that would have helped. The woman was paranoid. She would have sought you out eventually, no matter where you were."

"Maybe," Leliana conceded, "but that is not the point. I was a different person there. I forgot my life as a bard while I was in the cloister. I felt _safe_. I didn't have to watch my back all the time." She trembled. "That's what made Marjolaine the person she is, don't you see? It ruined her; it will ruin me too."

"I don't believe that," Alessa protested.

Leliana shook her head in agitation. "Even now, I feel some regret at not ending her life, in order to protect my own."

"That's a perfectly natural reaction, Leliana," Alessa argued. "There's nothing wrong with feeling that way."

"Isn't there?" Leliana's tone was sceptical. "It's the first step down this dark path. First thought, then action..." Her expression grew troubled. "What we're doing... what we've done... Hunted men down, killed them – part of me loves it. It invigorates me, and this scares me. I... I feel myself slipping."

Her words sent a shiver down Alessa's spine. How many times recently had she felt the same? They fought for their lives, day after day, against darkspawn and men alike, and all too often she'd found herself looking forward to the next battle, instead of hoping to avoid it.

Was it simply a natural survival instinct, this inclination to embrace the fights rather than run from them? Or was it perhaps something darker, as Leliana seemed to fear?

Alessa swallowed hard. "You're a good person, Leliana. You're not Marjolaine."

"How can you be so sure?"

Alessa considered the question for a long moment, and then met her friend's gaze. "I don't think people like Marjolaine waste any time worrying about whether they're doing the right thing."

Leliana nodded, relaxing slightly. "That... that is true." She smiled suddenly, and Alessa thought it was the first real smile she'd seen from the redhead since Marjolaine's mercenaries had attacked them. "I can always trust you to show me things from a different perspective." She sighed. "I would like to be alone, for now. I have many things to consider."

Alessa nodded. "Of course."

Leliana smiled again. "Thank you for listening to me."

oOo

The combination of the day's battles and the evening's combat training with Alistair left Alessa feeling fatigued but exhilarated, and not at all sleepy. As had become their habit, they took the first watch together, cherishing the quiet moments alone.

She shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the campfire. The nights were getting chillier now as autumn approached; something that would only grow worse when they reached the Frostback Mountains. Noticing the shiver, Alistair put his arm around her and pulled her closer.

"It's been a strange day," she remarked idly.

He chuckled quietly. "That's one way of putting it. Not quite the day I was expecting, at any rate."

Alessa grinned. "Indeed. Who'd have thought we'd wind up visiting a brothel together?"

Alistair flushed red, and he looked away from her, staring instead into the fire. "No," he muttered. "Definitely wasn't expecting that."

His discomfort intrigued Alessa. She'd known many soldiers, had grown up with them a constant presence around the castle. Some of them she'd even come to know well from time spent training with them. None had ever seemed shy about the subject of sex. Her mother would have been horrified had she known half the things Alessa had overheard.

But then, she reminded herself, Alistair hadn't actually been a Warden all that long. Before that, he'd been a templar, and subject to the Chantry's rules.

A sudden wicked impulse took hold of her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Your desire is my command," he responded, looking up from the fire and smiling at her.

"Templars aren't allowed to... I mean, they have strict rules, don't they? Does that mean you've never…?" She trailed off, not quite brazen enough to actually articulate the question aloud.

He blushed anyway, leaving little room for doubt that he understood what she was trying to ask. "Never… Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?" His expression feigned ignorance, but there was faint amusement in his voice, and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

"You know what I mean," she murmured, feeling a blush of her own start to spread.

"I'm not sure I do," he protested with an air of innocence. "Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?"

"Now you're just making fun of me," she muttered in embarrassment.

"Make fun of you, dear lady?" he protested. "Perish the thought!" He grinned, apparently enjoying the fact that he seemed to have the upper hand for once. "So tell me… Have _you_ ever licked a lamppost in winter?" His tone was teasing, but the way he emphasised the words and the sudden intensity in his eyes made Alessa's cheeks burn. She couldn't be sure whether he was being literal or whether he was using the odd phrase as innuendo, but the way he'd said it certainly _seemed_ to imply the latter.

She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. "No," she said, as calmly as she could manage. "I've never licked a lamppost in winter."

_After all_, she thought, _whatever way he means it, the answer is the same._

He nodded, seeming pleased. "Good." She arched her brows at him quizzically, and he grinned. "I hear it's quite painful," he elaborated with a wink. "I remember one of the younger initiates did it on a dare, once, and there was pointing and laughing. Oh, the humanity." Then his eyes softened and he took a breath, suddenly serious. "I, myself, have also never done... it. _That_. Not that I haven't _thought_ about it, but… you know." He reddened again, and looked away suddenly.

"Never the right time and place?" Her voice was soft, and she couldn't help smiling. On some primal level, his response to the question she hadn't quite been able to ask sent a happy glow through her.

He snorted quietly. "Well, living in the Chantry is... not exactly a life for rambunctious boys." He let out a faint sigh and met her eyes. "They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself." He swallowed nervously. "That's not so bad, is it?"

Alessa's breath caught, and she found herself able to focus on only one part of what he'd said. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?" she whispered. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but it still left her feeling slightly giddy.

He looked surprised. "Of course you are, and you know it!" He smiled, his eyes drinking her in. "You're ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

"I'd never hurt you," she protested softly.

His eyes widened, as did his smile. "Nor I, you."

He leaned towards her and his kiss drove all thoughts of the chill air from her mind.

oOo

_Alistair lies awake, staring at the canvas above him. He is thankful for the small mercy that Zevran is on watch and Sten is soundly sleeping. At least there is no need to pretend to be asleep._

_Oh, he's tired, sure enough – but every time he closes his eyes, images swim through his mind._

_Images of Alessa, clad in the revealing attire of the serving girls in the Pearl. Or wearing her own clothes, which cling wetly to her body as if she just took a swim, fully clothed. Or, Maker help him, wearing nothing at all. Not that he's seen what she'd look like without clothes, of course, but apparently that doesn't stop him from imagining it. Vividly._

_No matter how she's dressed, she presses her body to his, and whispers provocatively in his ear, asking him if he wants to lick a lamppost in winter. _

_Sweet Andraste, whatever made him come out with _that_ particular gem?_

_And what made _her_ ask the question that prompted it? Was it her way of trying to tell him that she wants to... to... _

_And what if it was? What then?_

_Maker knows, he wants to. Or rather, his traitorous body wants to. But it's much, much too soon, and talk about not the right place and time... She might just be the woman he'll spend the rest of his life with, if the Maker is kind and if he's very, very lucky; and that means doing things _right._ She'll be the first woman he's ever spent a night with, and, from what she told him, he'll be her first, too. When they finally... do... _that_ (dear Maker, he can't even _think_ the _words_, how is he ever going to _do_ it?), it ought to be special; silk sheets, a roof over their heads at the very least – she deserves that, not some quick tumble in the woods in the middle of nowhere._

_And besides – what if he _did_ throw all semblance of respectability away, and just _go_ for it – and it's not what she wanted at all? What if it's all just his own wishful thinking?_

_He'd never be able to look her in the eye again._

_They haven't even really spoken about how they feel about each other. So they've kissed a few times, and they've made vague statements about how they care for each other and would never hurt each other. That doesn't mean she's ready to jump straight into his bed! _

_Not that he has a bed for her to jump into. Or even a tent to call his own. Which brings him back to the tumble in the woods, and she's a _noblewoman_, for crying out loud._

_Dear Maker, what was he _thinking_? He has to get these... desires... under control, or he's going to make a complete fool of himself, and ruin everything._

_He groans quietly, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries very, very hard to think of something else entirely._

oOo

Leliana approached Alessa the following morning as they set out on the road. "Do you remember our discussion?"

She didn't elaborate, but Alessa had no doubt which discussion she was referring to. "It was only yesterday," she teased, smiling. "Do you think my memory's really that bad?"

Leliana returned the smile, relaxing slightly. "Of course not. It was perhaps a clumsy way of starting a conversation." She took a breath. "I just wanted to tell you that I thought about what you told me and... you were right. Despite what Marjolaine says, I am not like her. I know that now. I've found peace in knowing the Maker, and nothing will change that." She looked intently at Alessa. "I followed you to make the world a better place, and as long as I keep that in mind, I will not fall." She sighed. "Sometimes it takes another to show us the truths we hide from ourselves."

Alessa nodded, smiling a little ruefully. "That it does." She gave the bard a sombre look. "You are not the only one who fears falling into darkness, Leliana. What Alistair and I have to do, what we _are_..." She thought of the darkspawn taint coursing through her veins, a taint that she sometimes feared would swallow her up, would define her in more ways than one. She felt like such a different person now than before her Joining, and that troubled her more than she cared to admit.

She swallowed. "It's not easy, sometimes. But as long as we don't lose sight of the things that are important – I don't mean the Blight, but the _good_ things, the things we're fighting to save – then I believe we'll be okay." She smiled at the redhead. "I'm glad I have you here to remind me of that."

"And I'm glad I left Lothering in your company," Leliana said earnestly. "You have proven a true friend, and I thank the Maker for you."

"As do I," Alessa replied, giving her a hug.

oOo

Later that day, the dry weather they'd enjoyed finally broke, and for the next several days it rained ceaselessly, making the journey to the Frostback Mountains a miserable one. Conversations and tempers alike grew short, and more than once either Alessa or Wynne had to play peacemaker.

Alessa wasn't sure whether or not to count it as an improvement when they reached the Frostbacks, for with the higher ground came snow instead of rain. Zevran, being accustomed to a much milder climate, grumbled incessantly about the cold, but at least the snow was not constant, and didn't leave them feeling like drowned rats. They traded for thicker cloaks and socks, donned extra layers beneath their armour, and journeyed on.

In each of the settlements they came upon in the Frostbacks, they enquired about a village called Haven. The responses they got were mixed; some laughed and said that Haven was nothing more than a local legend; others told wild tales of a village lost to the world, that only the righteous – or the damned, depending on the tale spinner – could find, or that was only discoverable at certain times of year, or if the moon was in just the right place in the sky. Some claimed never to have heard of a place called Haven at all. A rare few seemed to become nervous when questioned about it, but neither bribes nor intimidation could persuade them to admit they knew where the place was.

They finally got a lucky break when they met a travelling dwarven merchant, who took great pleasure in complaining about the treatment he'd received in a village to the north west, where he had been told in very unfriendly terms to take his trade elsewhere. He was certain the village, tucked away half-hidden in the shadow of a mountain, had been named Haven, and – once Alessa had purchased an over-priced trinket from him – he gladly provided them with directions.

oOo

The mountain that the trader had pointed them toward made for an easy landmark, and they soon found themselves entering a quiet little village in its shadow. When a dour guardsman stepped out onto the path to challenge them, Alessa jumped.

"What are you doing in Haven?" he asked gruffly. "There is nothing for you here."

"So this _is_ Haven, then?" Alessa asked, refusing to be intimidated.

The man scowled. "What do you want?"

"Friendly chap, isn't he?" Alistair murmured.

Alessa kept her focus on the guard, giving him a cool smile. "This was not an easy place to find. Is Haven a new settlement?"

"Haven's always been here," he said disdainfully. "My family knows no other home."

"And yet," Alessa pressed, "it appears on no maps, and even your near neighbours seem to think it merely a rumour or a legend. Why is that?"

The guard's eyes narrowed. "We keep to ourselves; we see no need to announce our presence to the world. It is more peaceful that way."

"Who's in charge of the village?" Alistair asked.

"Father Eirik is our spiritual leader and guide," the man answered, unconsciously straightening his back in respect.

"A Revered _Father_?" Leliana said, sounding shocked. "I have never heard of this."

Alessa glanced at Leliana and Alistair, sharing their surprise. Only women could be spiritual leaders within the Chantry; it had always been that way, since the Chantry's founding. A Revered Father was tantamount to blasphemy.

The guard frowned. "It has always been thus in Haven. We do not question tradition."

"It seems your traditions are very different from ours," Alessa said carefully, throwing a warning glance at the others; she intended to tread lightly here until they knew more.

"Our ways are not the ways of the lowland cities," the guard agreed in a disparaging tone.

"So where can we find this Father Eirik?" Alessa asked.

"He's in the chantry, giving a sermon." The guard scowled at them. "You should _not_ disturb him."

"Have you heard of the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Alistair abruptly demanded.

Alessa winced. _So much for treading lightly._

The man's eyes narrowed. "The Urn is nothing but a legend."

With their purpose already revealed, Alessa decided to see if she could provoke a reaction. "Brother Genitivi's research suggests otherwise," she said, keeping her tone casual.

His eyes widened momentarily, and then narrowed again; his tone became icy. "I do not know who Brother Genitivi is, or what he says. However, I am sure people can convince themselves of anything."

"So you don't know if Brother Genitivi has been here?"

"No," the guard answered curtly, giving them a baleful stare.

Alessa nodded, feigning obliviousness to his ire. "Still, we would like to take a look around, perhaps ask your fellow villagers if they know of him."

"We do not appreciate lowlanders 'looking about' our home as though it were some sort of zoo," the guard growled angrily.

Alessa sighed, and adopted a resigned tone suggesting acquiescence. "Very well. But we have travelled a long way, and our provisions are low – is there somewhere we can trade, at least?"

"You may trade for supplies at the shop, if you wish," he allowed. "Then I suggest you and your companions leave."

Alessa thanked the guard, and led her companions in the direction he had indicated.

"Did it just get a lot colder?" Alistair remarked flippantly as soon as they were out of earshot. "Or is it just me?"

"They are hiding something," Morrigan commented. "'Tis obvious, is it not?"

"Ah, quiet insular communities," sighed Zevran. "There's always something nasty going on behind closed doors." He winked at Alessa. "I hope it involves chains. I hope they ask me to join in."

"You're incorrigible, Zev." Alessa shook her head in exasperation as the elf smiled broadly at her. "And only you would take that as a compliment." She sighed. "But yes, they are hiding something. That guard definitely recognised Brother Genitivi's name. We need to find out more, but we had best be careful – at least until we know what we're dealing with here."

She looked around; the village was disturbingly quiet. There was no one outside, and she couldn't even see any faces at windows. She walked up to the nearest house and knocked on the door, but there was no response. "Where do you suppose everyone is?"

"Our friendly neighbourhood watchman, back there, mentioned that their... Father," Alistair shivered slightly, "was holding a sermon at the chantry. Perhaps they're all in there?"

"_All_ of them?" Alessa was sceptical, but it did seem the most likely explanation.

"If so, these villagers are a remarkably pious bunch," Wynne commented.

"Indeed. But it does present the perfect opportunity to look around." She glanced round once more; the guard was out of sight, and no other watchers were in evidence. "Zevran, do you think you could—"

"It would be my pleasure, my dear Warden," he interrupted with a bow, and slipped quietly inside the house.

The sound of a child's voice drew Alessa's attention, and she turned to see a small boy, perhaps seven or eight years old, approaching; he was chanting an unfamiliar rhyme to himself, and studying something in his hand; he seemed not to have noticed them.

Alessa moved to intercept the boy, trying to look as friendly and unthreatening as she could. "Hello."

The boy looked startled, and thrust his hand into his pocket. "Who are you? You shouldn't be here."

She knelt down. "I'm a Grey Warden. Do you know what that is?"

"No. And I don't care neither. Lowlanders don't belong here." He stared insolently at Alessa. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Thinking rapidly, she smiled. "I bet you're a clever boy. What do you know about Haven?"

"Haven is Haven," the boy shrugged indifferently, but then smiled. "But I have a secret. Do you want to see?"

Alessa smoothed her face into a serious expression. "Yes, I do. Will you show me?"

With a smug grin, the boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and extended it towards her, unclenching his fist to reveal something small sitting in the palm of his hand To her dismay, his 'secret' seemed to be a finger-bone, bleached white by the sun, and polished as if through constant handling. If she wasn't mistaken, it was a human finger-bone.

"Ew. Creepy," Alistair muttered uneasily.

"Where did you get that from?" Alessa asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

"Over by the mountain," the boy said, gesturing over his shoulder. "It's lucky. I keep it with me. Don't tell anyone, all right?"

She nodded uneasily, and the boy grinned and ran off.

"Very, very creepy," Alistair elaborated, and she couldn't help but agree with him.

At that moment, Zevran appeared from around a corner further ahead, looking uncharacteristically troubled.

"You found something, didn't you?" Alessa asked, her disquiet growing. "What is it?"

Zevran shook his head. "This, I think you will need to see for yourself." He led them back around the corner, and gestured towards a house.

Looking around to make certain they were unobserved, Alessa entered; Sten looked at the low lintel wordlessly, and took up a watchful position outside, while Alistair, Leliana, Wynne and Morrigan crowded in after her.

It was immediately apparent what had unsettled Zevran. At one side of the room, what appeared to be a wooden altar stood against the wall, with a pair of half-melted candles sitting atop it. Blood pooled on the altar, not fresh, and yet not old enough to have completely dried; it trickled down the sides in dark rivulets.

Alessa's stomach heaved as she stared in dismay at the gruesome tableaux and Dane whined, sniffing the air.

"I was not expecting to find something so unsettling," Leliana murmured, her voice leaden with horror.

"Used for food preparation, perhaps?" Alistair asked hopefully.

Alessa gave him a grim look. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'm just trying to be optimistic," Alistair said defensively. He swallowed. "The other explanation is slightly more disturbing."

"That is human blood," Morrigan remarked, as if it was nothing more than a curiosity.

Alistair threw her an appalled look. "How could you possibly know that?"

Morrigan gave him a level stare in return. "I simply do. I also know 'tis unlikely someone could lose that much blood, and live."

"Maker's breath..." Alessa muttered.

"This village is... not quite what it seems, is it?" Wynne said quietly.

oOo

A worse find awaited them at the nearby village store.

The stench hit them when they entered the store, partially masked by strong incense, but still unmistakable: a rancid mixture of rotting meat and blood. Alistair and Alessa exchanged an alarmed glance; not since the Circle Tower had the smell of death been so pervasive.

The storekeeper took violent exception to Zevran's attempt to sneak a look into the back room of his shop, attacking them with no care for his own life; his insane frenzy left them no choice but to subdue him quickly. Alessa and Zevran drew the man's attention while Alistair drew his sword and brought the pommel down against his temple. The storekeeper dropped like a stone. Alistair snatched off his gauntlet and crouched down to check the man's pulse; he exhaled slowly and looked up at Alessa. "He'll live."

Alessa nodded, and then led the way into the back room, where they found what the storekeeper had been so desperate to hide. A bloody pile of dismembered body parts, armour and clothing lay in a corner of the room; the remains of at least two, perhaps three men, Alessa judged. Some of the armour bore the unmistakeable heraldry of Redcliffe; they had discovered the fate of at least some of Arl Eamon's missing knights.

Staggering away from the nauseating scene, Alessa dry-heaved into a corner of the store. Alistair's hand on her back was a comforting assurance even though she could feel him trembling through her chainmail.

Just what kind of horror had they stumbled into, here?

Fighting to recover her self-control, she straightened and turned. Her gaze fell on the prone storekeeper, and her lip curled in disgust. Had she known then what lurked in his storeroom, she might have gladly put her sword through his heart when he attacked them.

Alistair's tentative voice broke into her thoughts. "Alessa, you're not going to...?"

To her dismay, she realised her hand was wrapped tightly around the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it. She made her fingers unclench, and shook her head. "No." She would not execute a helpless man in cold blood, no matter what he had done, but neither could she risk him regaining consciousness and alerting others once they had left the store. She glanced around, and several lengths of rope hanging on the wall drew her attention. She gestured toward them. "Zevran, if you would?"

She watched as the assassin expertly bound and gagged the man. When that had been done, she drew a deep breath, and faced the others. "I think it's time we had a chat with Father Eirik, don't you?"

oOo

The chantry stood at the top of a hill, both more ancient and more ornate in appearance than Alessa would have expected.

The sound of many voices chanting in unison could clearly be heard from within its walls. "You hear that?" Alistair murmured. "There's people in there, all right."

"The entire village, from the sounds of it," Zevran agreed.

With a glance at her companions to ensure they were all prepared, Alessa took a deep breath, and pushed the chantry doors open.

"... we are blessed beyond measure; we are chosen by the Holy and Beloved to be Her guardians."

The words were being intoned by a grey-haired man with fierce eyes at the front of the chantry; villagers stood arrayed before him, their heads bowed in prayer.

_This, then_, Alessa reasoned, _must be Father Eirik_.

"This sacred duty is given to us, alone; rejoice, my brethren, and prepare your hearts to receive Her."

_Her?_

Alessa recalled Weylon and the ambushers calling on Andraste as they'd attacked, and her eyes narrowed. She'd known they were dealing with a cult of some kind, but an entire village so misguided that they were prepared to kill in Her name went far beyond what she'd expected. Her stomach churned.

How could they possibly believe Andraste would look kindly on such deeds?

"Lift up your voices and despair not, for She will raise Her faithful servants to glory when Her—"

He broke off as Alessa led the way towards him; villagers scattered at their approach, but a small group of men stepped away from the walls to stand on either side of the Revered Father, their hands on their weapons.

Father Eirik's sunken eyes narrowed in anger and he smiled unpleasantly. "Ah. Welcome. I heard that we had a visitor wandering about the village." He crossed his arms in front of him. "I trust you've enjoyed your time in Haven so far?"

"Don't waste your time, Father," Alessa said coldly. "We've seen a bloodstained altar, and the remains of the knights of Redcliffe you've killed. I think we're well past the point of exchanging pleasantries, don't you?"

Eirik sighed. "This, my brothers, is what happens when you let an outsider into the village. They have no respect for your privacy."

"You dare speak of respect?" Alistair cried out furiously. "What respect did you show the men you butchered?"

"They will tell others of us if we let them," Eirik continued, ignoring the outburst. "Word will spread, and then what?" He fixed his icy glare on Alessa. "You, stranger, do not understand our ways. You would bring war to Haven, in your ignorance."

"You're damn right I would," Alessa agreed, her tone steely. "You deserve no mercy for what you've done."

"We don't owe you any explanations for our actions," Eirik sneered. "We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven."

At a gesture from the Revered Father, the men alongside him leapt into action, and from the corner of her eye, Alessa noted that more closed in from behind her companions. Eirik himself began casting a spell.

Trusting Alistair and the others to deal with the rest, Alessa leapt for Eirik, intent on disrupting his spellcasting. But, quick as she was, Dane got there first; the war hound barrelled into the old man, knocking him off his feet.

In an instant, Alessa had her sword at Eirik's throat. "Call your men off," she ordered.

Eirik laughed, and it was the crazed laugh of a fanatic. "Kill them all!" he called out. "Do not fail Her!" Even pinned to the ground as he was, he raised his hands again to cast a spell. Growling incoherently in anger, Alessa ran him through, and then whirled to face the other cultists.

Each one fought like a man possessed, but though their passion was not in doubt, their fighting skills were raw, and they were no match for the Grey Wardens and their companions.

The chantry floor soon ran red, and Alessa hoped that the Maker would forgive them for spilling blood in a holy house, even one as corrupt as this.

The rest of the villagers had fled when the fighting broke out; as the last of Eirik's men fell, the silence in the chantry was suddenly heavy and oppressive, broken only by their heavy breathing, and the sound of weapons being re-sheathed.

"So, what now?" Alistair panted. "Search the village for Brother Genitivi?"

"I believe I have a better idea," Zevran called out softly. Alessa turned towards the elf; he was standing in front of an apparently decorative stone arch that protruded slightly from the stone wall behind it. Glancing over her shoulder, Alessa noted a matching archway on the other side of the chantry, that one leading into an empty room.

Zevran motioned them closer. "This is a false wall," he murmured, running his hands across the stone blocks and feeling around their edges. "I have seen it's like before; there is a trick to releasing it, if I can just..." He smiled. "Ah." There was a muffled click, and the 'wall' suddenly swung inwards, revealing a hidden room.

Alessa tensed, but the room had only one occupant, and he lay supine on the floor; his face was pallid and drawn, and he barely raised his head when they entered.

"Who are you?" he groaned. Despite his apparent pain, his eyes were apparently still sharp; they took in Alessa's sword and dagger as she approached him. "They... they've sent you to finish it?"

"Finish what?"

"Me," he groaned. "Finish me off." He sounded weary.

"We are not residents of Haven," Alessa assured him. "My companions and I, we came here looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, and for Brother Genitivi." His eyes locked on her, and she smiled. "That's you, I'm guessing."

He nodded weakly, then let his head fall back in relief. "You don't know how glad I am to see someone who isn't from this village. I—" He broke off with a groan of pain as he attempted to sit up.

Alessa swiftly moved to his side, offering her arm to help him. He accepted her assistance gratefully, wincing at the movement. "The leg's not doing so well. And..." He closed his eyes. "I can't feel my foot."

Alessa looked over her shoulder. "Wynne, can you do anything for him?"

Wynne was already moving towards her. She knelt down beside Genitivi and carefully examined his injuries. "I can set the leg," she confirmed, "and ease some of the pain, but he'll need a lot of rest in order to heal." She began casting her healing spell.

"I don't have time to rest now," Genitivi protested impatiently. "I'm so close. The Urn is just up that mountain." He gestured vaguely behind him.

"How do you know?" Leliana asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"My research led me to Haven, and I have heard the villagers talking. I know the Urn is here."

Alessa met Alistair's gaze; his eyes reflected her own relief. Alessa had not really allowed herself to consider the possibility that the Urn might be simply the myth that most believed it, but it was still reassuring to hear Genitivi's certainty.

"Haven lies in the shadow of the mountain that holds the Urn," the scholar continued. "There is an old temple there, built to protect it. The door is always locked, but I know what the key is. Eirik wears a medallion that opens the temple door... I've seen what he does with it."

As Genitivi spoke, Alessa recalled seeing the medallion around Eirik's neck. Before she could speak, however, Zevran stepped forward, holding something aloft.

"This medallion?"

"When did you...?" Alessa shook her head and sighed. "Never mind." She accepted the medallion from Zevran, and held it out to Genitivi, who nodded.

"Yes. That is your key." He got unsteadily to his feet, gingerly testing the newly healed leg and foot. "Take me to the mountainside, and I will show you."

Alessa frowned. "Are you sure you can make the journey?"

Genitivi hesitated, glancing down at his leg and wincing. "It... is not that far," he said, half to Alessa and half to himself. "And..." He sighed. "Will you let me lean on you?" He looked towards the passageway. "For the Urn, any pain is worth enduring."

Alessa considered a moment, and then reluctantly nodded. Loath though she was to take him into what might be more danger, it wasn't safe for him to remain here, either. And they could hardly send an injured man home to Denerim alone, even if they could get him safely out of the village.

Cautiously, they made their way outside the chantry, instructing Genitivi to remain inside until they were certain the way was clear.

It was a wise precaution; villagers armed with bows and knives attacked as soon as they appeared, men and women alike. Alessa was dismayed to see that some were barely more than youths. She recognised the storekeeper among the archers; someone must have gone to the store seeking weapons, and freed him.

Cursing violently under his breath, Alistair charged into the fray with his shield raised, and Alessa was barely a heartbeat behind him. Unarmoured and unskilled, the villagers stood no chance, but they fought as fanatically as had those inside the chantry, refusing to yield or be subdued. Alessa could only grind her teeth in frustration as villager after villager fell until finally the hill was eerily quiet.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long. I thought I'd get more writing done over the holidays, but it just didn't seem to happen._

_I've taken some liberties with the order in which certain events and dialogues happen in Haven, in order to make the narrative flow better._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, alerts, favourites or reviews – your continued support means everything, and it's what keeps me writing._


	25. An Ancient Temple

**An Ancient Temple**

With Brother Genitivi's directions, they quickly found the concealed path behind the chantry that lead up the mountain. Alessa sent Zevran and Leliana to scout ahead, while Sten watched their rear to ensure no other villagers came after them; Alistair and Alessa walked on either side of the scholar, lending him their support. Progress was frustratingly slow thanks to Genitivi's injuries, but finally they arrived at the ancient temple, which seemed to project out from the very mountain itself.

Alessa looked up in awe at the impressive structure, which loomed ominously above them; wondering how long it had stood there. The style of the buttresses and arches had echoes of familiarity, but the whole was quite unlike anything she had seen before.

She shook her head ruefully. They were too exposed out here in the open; this wasn't the time to stop and admire the building's architecture. She helped Genitivi through the open archway, and up the steps leading to the solid wooden door. He stood in front of the door for a moment, catching his breath. "Here we are. Give me the medallion, and let's see if I remember."

Alessa handed him the medallion, and he studied it, his brows knitted together in concentration. "Yes..." he muttered. "You see, it can be manipulated, just like this..." There was a distinct click, and several parts of the seemingly solid object opened outwards, like petals on a flower. Genitivi smiled at Alessa, looking a little smug. "And there. A key to open the way."

Zevran stared in fascination at the artefact. "I have never seen such a device. How did you know how to activate it?"

"There are very few keys like this in the world," Genitivi informed him. "But I have seen some. When you find the right combination, it just... _feels_ right." He shrugged. "It is hard to explain. Now, let's see if we can open this door. There should be a place to insert this." Genitivi studied the ornately carved surface of the door, and then pushed the medallion into a matching indentation near the edge and turned it. There was another click, and the door swung open. The scholar smiled triumphantly at Alessa and headed eagerly into the temple, his injured leg apparently forgotten. Calling urgently to him to wait, Alessa hurried after the scholar, who was gazing with rapt attention around the temple.

It was quite the sight, she had to admit. From the inside, the ravages of time were more apparent; in many places, the stone roof high above them was cracked or missing altogether, and snow and ice covered much of the interior. Stalactites hung from those parts of the roof that remained intact. But what remained of the temple was still breathtaking, not least for its sheer scale.

Stone columns rose up to the roof at regular intervals, and each was covered with intricate stone carvings which appeared to depict detailed scenes. Statues had once lined the long room; those that remained standing were chipped and damaged, and some were missing arms or heads, while others had toppled to the floor. The walls bore no decoration; Alessa imagined tapestries and paintings adorning them, although these had long since been lost to the passage of time. The walls were cracked now in places, and moss grew between the stone blocks.

For all the ruin, however, it was plain that this had once been a place of great beauty. It was also plain that, while ruined, the temple was not wholly abandoned. Each of the columns bore a carved stone sconce on either side, and in many of these flames burned brightly. Someone had been through here, and recently, although there was no sign of them at present.

Far ahead of them, at the end of the massive chamber, steps rose up to a balcony, and beyond that Alessa could just make out another door. She wondered if there was an ambush awaiting them on the other side of it.

"What I would given to have seen this hall in all its splendour, as it was meant to be," Genitivi sighed. "Still, sweep away the ice and the snow, and traces of beauty remain."

"You need to be more cautious, Brother Genitivi," Alessa warned. "There could be more of Eirik's cultists around."

"I'm sorry, what?" Genitivi turned towards her, smiling apologetically. "I was a little distracted. I apologise." He gestured at the nearest column. "These carvings were created just after Andraste's death, and they may reveal things about Her life that we do not yet know..." He was already moving closer to the column to peer at it in fascination. "I think I need more time to study these statues and carvings."

"We can't spare the time for that," Alessa said firmly.

Genitivi turned to look at her, a plea in his eyes. "I could not keep up with you, with my injuries. I should be safe; I don't think there are any villagers here."

Alessa glanced at her companions; Leliana gave her a shrug, and Alistair rolled his eyes. Clearly, moving the scholar from this spot was going to require some effort, and he did have a point; staying here was probably no more dangerous than venturing further into the temple with them, and they would certainly move faster without him.

"Go," Genitivi urged. "I will be all right." He smiled. "Perhaps my destiny was only to lead _you_ to the urn."

Alessa looked back towards the temple's entrance. "If we close that door, am I right in thinking that it can't be opened from the other side without the medallion?"

"That is correct," the scholar confirmed.

Alessa nodded. "Good. Then you can remain here. Sten will stay with you." She looked at the qunari, her brows raised in question; Sten nodded once, his face impassive. Alessa frowned at the scholar for a moment, and then added quietly, "Perhaps you should stay as well, Wynne. I don't know how long Brother Genitivi's enthusiasm will override the pain from his leg and foot, but I'm sure he will need your healing arts before long."

The elderly mage pursed her lips in annoyance as she watched her recalcitrant patient limping around the temple. "Indeed."

"Is there anything else I need to know about this place?" Alessa asked, retuning her gaze to the scholar.

"It was designed to protect the Urn from those who would steal it, or do harm to it – namely, the Tevinter Imperium."

"I don't mean to harm the Urn," Alessa pointed out.

"I would hope not," Genitivi responded sombrely. "And if the legends speak truly, you will never reach the Urn with malice in your heart. 'Only the faithful shall lay eyes on the Sacred Ashes; death and misfortune await the unbeliever'," he recited, frowning in concentration. "'The Maker's gaze has fallen on Andraste's final resting place. He weeps for His Beloved, and His wrath at Her betrayers endures'."

"The Maker's gaze? You're trying to tell us the Maker Himself is _watching_?" Alistair asked uneasily, his own gaze involuntarily drifting upwards.

Genitivi shrugged. "That is what the legend says, and the Maker may indeed watch this place." He smiled. "Read between the lines, however, and you'll understand that it is merely a simple truth draped in hyperbole and metaphor." He chuckled. "After all, no one wants to hear: 'Willy toiled for many a year to perfect the curious mechanisms that would send a sharpened spike up the arse of the unwary intruder'."

Zevran's snort of amusement at this indicated that, in at least one case, Genitivi's statement was incorrect. Nonetheless, Alessa understood the scholar's meaning. "So we need to be on the lookout for traps."

Genitivi nodded. "I think my decision to stay here was the best one, don't you?"

Alessa gave him a wry grin. "We'll be as quick as we can." She smiled at the old man; it was impossible not to like him. "Try to stay out of trouble."

Genitivi returned the smile. "I'll be right here if you need me." He turned back to the nearest pillar, already muttering to himself. "Mm... now I need something to write on."

Shaking her head in amusement, Alessa left Sten and Wynne to watch over the distracted scholar, and led the rest of her companions further into the echoing temple.

oOo

In spite of Brother Genitivi's warnings of traps, and Alessa's fears of ambushes, they found no one in the temple. Making their way through chamber after chamber, corridor after corridor, the only hazards they encountered were natural ones: cracked and uneven flooring, often masked by snowdrifts; toppled statues and broken urns; even the occasional falling stalactite.

_Perhaps the cultists have already sprung whatever traps were here,_ she mused hopefully.

Some of the statues they passed were breathtakingly beautiful; others eerily strange. At one doorway, a sculpture of a nightmarish three-headed beast that defied description stood guard on either side, looking so lifelike that Alessa had to gather all her courage to touch one and reassure herself that it was merely stone.

"Creepy," Alistair muttered uneasily as he passed between them.

As they ventured deeper into the temple, they came to a chamber where, instead of a roof, there was unhewn rock above them, and parts of the floor were covered in rubble.

"Was this the result of a landslide?" Alessa asked, staring warily upwards and wondering just how safe it was to proceed.

"I do not think so," Leliana replied, looking up. "I believe we are are now within the mountain."

"The builders hollowed out the _mountain_ for their temple?" Alistair's tone was one of disbelief.

"Well, perhaps not quite the _whole_ mountain," Leliana said with a smile.

As they continued onwards, the condition of the temple deteriorated rapidly; they had to pick their way carefully through the rubble, and the few statues and pillars that remained standing did so at alarming angles.

Finally, they came to a chamber with a hole in its wall, roughly circular in shape and just tall enough for a person to walk through. Beyond, there lay what appeared to be a natural passage in the rock, sloping gently downwards. It was lit by a flickering torch.

oOo

They had ventured only a short way into the tunnel when they encountered a small pack of lizard-like creatures that immediately swarmed them. The grey, scaly creatures, each the size of a small deer, moved with an ungainly but rapid gait on four squat legs; their long necks and small heads were balanced by rudimentary tails. High-pitched squeaks accompanied their ferocious attacks. Their sharp teeth and claws made little impact on armour, however, and they were quickly dispatched.

"What were those things?" Alistair asked, frowning. "They almost looked like..." He trailed off, unwilling to speak his suspicion aloud.

"Like baby dragons?" Alessa finished for him, with an uneasy laugh. He nodded.

"Dragonlings," Morrigan corrected. She met their startled looks with a distinctly smug air. "Flemeth knew much lore about dragons."

"If they were dragons, where were their wings?" demanded Alistair.

"The wings develop later," Morrigan informed him, with more than a hint of condescension, "and only on the females. These are very young; 'tis likely they hatched but a short time ago."

"Dragons," whispered Leliana in awe, her eyes wide and shining. Morrigan rolled her eyes.

Alessa felt her heart thudding as she processed the apostate's words. "But then... that means..."

"There's a _mother_ dragon around somewhere?" Alistair asked in alarm.

"'Twould be prudent to assume so, yes." There was a slight hesitancy in Morrigan's voice that belied her outward confidence.

There was a moment of silence, broken by Zevran tutting loudly. "My dear Warden, you did not tell me I would be signing on to fight _dragons_." He chuckled, and it broke the tension; the rest of the group relaxed, exchanging nervous grins. But when Zevran met Alessa's gaze, she noticed that the elf's humour did not show in his eyes, which were deadly serious.

Swallowing back her own concern, she waved her companions onwards, setting a slow, cautious pace. As she did, she felt Alistair's eyes on her, and shared a look of apprehension with him.

Alessa told herself that, even if there was a dragon somewhere nearby, it couldn't be _that_ dragon; if it were, she and Alistair would surely have sensed its taint, and these tunnels would be crawling with darkspawn. But still, the possibility of facing a dragon – a terrifying enough idea in itself – was an unwelcome reminder of what the two of them would somehow eventually have to face if the Blight was to be stopped.

She suppressed a shiver that had little to do with the chill of the underground tunnels.

oOo

Before long, the tunnel opened out into a large natural cavern, and here they found the first group of cultists since they had left the village. To Alessa's surprise, when the cultists attacked, more dragonlings joined in, seemingly fighting alongside the villagers.

Alistair and Dane held the cultists' attention while Alessa, Leliana and Morrigan focussed on the dragonlings. Zevran slipped unnoticed behind the enemy lines to deal with the mage there, slitting the man's throat before he could react to the elf's presence.

Alistair gestured towards the handful of huge eggs that the cultists had been guarding. "Are those what I think they are?"

"If you think them dragon eggs, then 'tis certainly so," Morrigan retorted scornfully. "You did not truly need to ask, did you?"

Alistair threw the apostate a glare. "So," he said, pointedly ignoring her remark, "this is some sort of dragon cult?"

"So it seems," Alessa replied. "But what does a dragon cult have to do with Andraste's ashes?"

Alistair shrugged, and the others looked equally bewildered. Alessa shook her head, and motioned them onwards.

_I suppose we'll find out soon enough._

The thought wasn't a comforting one.

oOo

"Do you hear that?"

Alessa paused halfway across the cavern and turned towards Leliana; the bard's brow was furrowed in concentration. "I don't hear anyth—" She broke off as a distinct bleat issued from one of the tunnels ahead. Dane barked in response, his stubby tail wiggling from side to side.

"Was that a _goat_?" Alistair looked as bemused as Alessa felt.

Following the sound, the group emerged into a small cave; Leliana wrinkled her nose in distaste as the smell of animal waste assaulted their senses. In the torchlight Alessa saw that a number of small wooden cages stood at intervals around the cave's edge, each occupied by goats or pigs. The animals reacted noisily to their presence, some of them throwing themselves against the bars of their cages. Alessa looked round at her companions. "What in the Maker's name...?"

Morrigan cast her gaze around the cave. "'Tis plain to see, surely? They are _food._"

Alistair frowned. "Food?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. "For the dragonlings."

Leliana gasped. "Oh, the poor dears!"

Alessa grimaced. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but Morrigan was undoubtedly right. If the cultists were somehow co-existing with the dragonlings, then they would need a way to assuage the creatures' hunger.

_But to what end?_

oOo

"We seem to be heading... up?" Alistair observed.

Alessa nodded in agreement. The incline in the tunnel wasn't dramatic, but it was noticeable. "Perhaps it'll lead back to the surface."

"Good," Zevran muttered. "I crave fresh air; these tunnels are stifling. And narrow."

Alessa grinned at the assassin; it was a measure of how much the unrelenting close quarters had unsettled him that he simply scowled back.

Shortly afterwards, they emerged into another large cavern. There was little time to appreciate the change, however; a cultist, standing to their left at the top of a set of stone steps, cried out an alarm.

Familiar squeaks heralded the arrival of more dragonlings from several directions; Alessa shouted a warning, and gestured for everyone to climb the steps while she and Alistair remained at the bottom, holding off the dragonlings. From behind her, Alessa heard the cultist casting a spell, but the sound was abruptly cut off; Zevran's work, she guessed.

As before, the dragonlings posed little threat, but before Alessa could catch her breath, two more creatures emerged from tunnels on either side of the cavern. While these resembled the dragonlings in appearance, they were easily twice the size, and moved with a purpose that suggested intelligence.

"Drakes," Morrigan hissed. "'Ware their breath!"

The apostate's words were barely out before the drake nearest Alessa opened its mouth; she threw herself to one side as flames scorched the rock where she'd been standing. Alistair got his shield up in time to deflect the second drake's fiery breath, although his sharp intake of breath told Alessa it had been a close call.

A frosty aura surrounded Morrigan, and a moment later her spell lashed out towards the first drake, sheathing it in solid ice. Alessa leapt to her feet and darted to Alistair's side, joining his attack on the remaining drake, noticing as she did that her blades and Alistair's sword were sparkling with frost.

Zevran appeared behind the drake, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he looked for a spot where his daggers might do most harm, but he failed to take account of the creature's tail.

"Zev, watch out!"

Leliana's warning came too late; the drake's tail swept the assassin off his feet, winding him. Alessa pressed home a deadly flurry with her blades, while Alistair slammed his shield against the drake's skull; between them, they ensured that the creature got no chance to take advantage of Zevran's vulnerability.

The drake squealed in pain and turned awkwardly, attempting to catch them both with another sweep of its tail, but before it could turn fully Alistair plunged his sword into the side of its neck, thrusting upwards into its head. It dropped like a stone.

Alessa shouted a warning and Alistair spun to face the remaining drake; the ice surrounding it from Morrigan's spell was melting away, and with slow, lethargic movements the drake was turning to face them.

Alistair swung his sword at the creature's long, thick neck with all his force; the thick skin gave way easily under his blade, severing the drake's head from its body. Alistair stared at his handiwork in wide-eyed surprise. "Wow."

Morrigan sniffed. "These dragonkin are creatures of fire. The cold weakened them, and made your attacks more effective."

Alistair looked slightly crestfallen. "Oh." He peered at his sword, stabbing a finger experimentally at the flat of the blade, and snatching it back as it met the frosty surface. "Right."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Words fail me."

"There's a first time for everything," Alistair muttered.

Alessa gave the apostate a warning glare as Morrigan opened her mouth to retort, and gestured across the cavern towards another passageway. "Let's just keep moving."

"More tunnels," Zevran grumbled.

Leliana patted his arm. "I know. I detest them too. So little room to manoeuvre, such poor light, and the thought of all that rock overhead? Ugh."

The assassin glowered at her. "You... are not helping."

oOo

They rounded a bend in the passageway, and Alessa tensed. The tunnel opened out into another huge cavern, and in the middle of it stood a group of men, facing them. Silently cursing the echoing tunnels that carried the sound of their armoured boots ahead of them, Alessa glanced at her companions and stepped into the cavern. She gestured for the others to spread out beside her. If there was to be a fight, she would rather it was in the open, where each of her party would have room to manoeuvre, than in the tight tunnels.

The cultists, some of whom were armoured and looked like they knew how to use the swords they carried, watched them closely but made no move to attack. One of the men, tall and heavily armoured but wearing no helm, took a step forward. "Stop! You will go no further!"

His voice was deep and angry, and carried the tone of one used to being obeyed without question. His dark hair was cropped short, as was his beard, and hatred blazed in his dark eyes. Alessa wondered if he bore some relation to Father Eirik; there were some similarities about the eyes, and in his voice. Perhaps it was simply the shared fanaticism.

"We are Grey Wardens," she said in a measured tone. "We go where we need to go. I suggest you let us pass. I do not welcome bloodshed, but we are quite prepared to defend ourselves – with deadly force, if necessary."

The man's eyes narrowed. "The righteous do not fear death," he sneered. His voice took on a furious, accusing note as he added, "You have defiled our temple! You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young!"

Alessa shared a confused glance with Alistair. "Their young?" he mouthed. Alessa frowned. Some of the cultists that had attacked them hadn't been long out of their youth, but there had certainly been no children among them.

_But he didn't say their children. He said their _young_. _

"No more," the cultist's leader continued, striding towards them and disrupting Alessa's train of thought. "You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this. Why have you come here?"

Alistair's hand went to the hilt of his sword as the man stopped only a pace away from Alessa, but she held out her hand towards him, shaking her head slightly. None of the cultists had drawn their weapons, and she did not want her own group to be the ones to initiate an attack. Despite his rage, the leader seemed to be willing to talk, and Alessa wanted to see how it would play out.

"Tell me who you are, first," she said, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

"I am Father Kolgrim." This close, his deep rumbling voice almost seemed to vibrate through her. "Leader and guide to the Disciples of Andraste." He gestured to either side, at the men gathered behind him. "Kill us, and you will face Andraste. She will smell our blood and the blood of Her children on you, and Her wrath will be great." His lip curled into a sneer.

_She will _smell_ us? Her _children_?_

Alistair seemed to be struggling with the same concepts. "Wait, what?" His voice was plaintive and confused.

The pieces suddenly fell into place, and Alessa stared at Kolgrim, stunned. "Her children – you mean the dragonlings, don't you? You think Andraste is a _dragon_?"

Leliana gasped, and Alistair made a small, wordless sound of understanding.

Kolgrim's expression darkened. "She is so much more!" he bellowed. "She is even more glorious than all the Old Gods combined!" His eyes shine with fervour. "The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine!"

He paused for breath, and Alistair chose that very moment to mutter, "Right..."

Kolgrim scowled. "Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay her now! What hope do you have?"

"This is blasphemy." Leliana's quiet voice shook, indicating the measure of her distress.

Kolgrim turned towards her, his scowl deepening, and Alessa hurriedly attempted to divert his attention back to herself. "What then of the Urn of Sacred Ashes?"

"It lies within this temple," Kolgrim acknowledged with a sneer, "but why do we need ashes when we serve the risen Andraste in all her glory?"

"You-you're mad!" cried Leliana. "Andraste is with the Maker! To believe otherwise is... is... " The bard, normally so good with words, seemed unable to find the right ones now to properly express the depth of her indignation.

Kolgrim's face contorted in rage. "You know nothing!" he bellowed, his gaze darting between them all. "Andraste revealed herself to us! We are Her Chosen!" He drew his sword, a vicious-looking two-hander, and they immediately fell back. "To arms, my brethren! Andraste will grant us victory!"

Alistair moved forward, sword and shield raised, to meet Kolgrim's first swing. Two of the cultists fell back, and Alessa noted that neither wore armour. "Morrigan, Leliana – look to the two at the back. Mages, I think."

"On it." The bard was all composure now.

"Indeed."

Alessa moved alongside Alistair as the other three cultists rushed forward. Dane met one with a mighty leap and a snarl; another fell screaming with one of Zevran's daggers, thrown with effortless precision, protruding from his eye. Alessa parried a blow from the third, and kicked out with her booted foot, catching the man in the stomach. He staggered back, and tripped over Zevran's waiting foot. Alessa left him for the assassin to deal with, and turned her attention to Kolgrim.

The big cultist was swinging his mighty blade with a force that almost matched what Sten was capable of, and Alistair was slowly being driven back by it. Alessa attempted to flank Kolgrim, but he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and swung round towards her instead, lifting his sword with mad glee in his eyes. Alessa swallowed and tried to step back out of his range as the sword began to slice down, knowing she couldn't hope to parry it with her sword and dagger.

"Oh no you don't!" Alistair charged furiously towards Kolgrim, slamming his shield into the cultist with all his body weight behind it. Both men went sprawling, Kolgrim's sword clattering to the floor as his grip slackened.

Alessa started anxiously towards them; to her relief, Alistair rolled away and leapt to his feet, uninjured. Kolgrim remained where he lay, stunned by the shield slam. Alessa kicked his sword away, and then pointed her own blade at his throat, guarding against any attempt to rise. She darted her gaze around the cavern, noting how quiet it was; all the other cultists lay dead around them.

"I guess Andraste wasn't on their side after all." Alistair panted, grinning.

Alessa snorted. "Guess not."

"Do not joke about it," Leliana huffed.

Zevran gestured at Kolgrim. "And what of him? He is too dangerous to leave alive; you know this."

Alessa frowned down at the cultist. His eyes were still slightly glazed, but already burning again with their fanatic hatred. "You will answer to Andraste for your offences," he spat weakly.

Alessa swallowed, and glanced up at the assassin. "He's unarmed, and not in a position to defend himself. I can't kill a man in cold blood," she protested.

"He would not hesitate to kill you, or any of us, were the situation reversed," Zevran pointed out quietly.

"I know. But I'm not a murderer."

"Then it is fortunate you have an assassin in your company, no?" Zevran's smile was cold.

"Zev..." Her sword wavered as she stared at the elf, dismayed by the bitterness in his voice. "I don't expect you to—"

Alistair's shouted warning came too late; Kolgrim swatted the point of her blade away, taking full advantage of her distraction, and was on his feet faster than she would have believed a man his size could move. His sword was out of reach, and he didn't waste any time in an attempt to retrieve it; he simply lunged at Alessa, reaching for her throat.

She drove her dagger into his side as his hands squeezed, but he didn't appear to feel it, and the madness in his eyes did not abate. Alessa gasped for breath as her airway was constricted, her weapons falling from her hands as she scrabbled uselessly at his gauntlets.

Hot blood sprayed over her as Alistair's sword bit deep into the cultist's neck from behind, and the hands choking her fell away as the man toppled to the floor. Alistair dropped the sword and pulled Alessa into a fierce hug.

As she recovered her breath, she met Zevran's eyes over Alistair's shoulder. The assassin arched one golden brow, but said nothing. He didn't have to; Kolgrim had made his point for him far more emphatically than any words could have.

oOo

To everyone's relief, a short passage on the far side of the cavern emerged into fresh air and daylight bright enough to make them blink. Once her eyes adjusted, Alessa saw that they were standing in the ruins of a second temple built on the edge of a large plateau amidst the mountain peaks. Gazing across the plateau, she could see more ruins, leading towards an imposing archway surrounded by high stone walls that almost seemed to melt into the mountainside.

_No_, she corrected herself, looking at how the rock and snow overhung the stone walls in places. _It's more like the mountain actually formed _around_ whatever that structure once was. How long has it been here?_

There was nothing else of note on the plateau; that archway had to lead to Andraste's ashes.

A sudden shrieking roar startled them all, and Alessa looked up to see a dark winged figure silhouetted against the sky, sweeping down towards them with a grace that belied its size.

For a moment Alessa stood motionless, transfixed by the sight of the massive dragon. No descriptions she'd ever read, no pictures she'd ever seen, not even the dream images of the archdemon could compare to seeing what could only be a high dragon in the flesh. Its wings flapped slowly, effortlessly keeping the dragon airborne as it circled the plateau high above them.

Then she realised that it was looming larger, its lazy circles bring it closer to the ground; before she could react, Alistair had grabbed her arm, pulling her forward with him to seek cover behind a wide stone column. Her heart pounding, Alessa crouched behind the pillar with Alistair, while the others pressed themselves against the walls of the temple's entryway in an effort not to attract the dragon's attention.

A shadow swept past them, and Alessa cautiously peered around the column, just in time to see the dragon land on a small, flat-topped peak on the far side of the plateau. With a final shriek, the dragon settled itself down, drawing in its wings and tucking both head and tail around its body.

Alessa watched for a while, but there was no further movement from the dragon. Letting out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding, she leant back against the stone pillar.

"What do we do now?" Alistair asked, his voice low.

Alessa considered the options. "We're not just turning back," she declared determinedly. "We need those ashes, and we've gone through too much to give up now." Alistair gave her a relieved nod, some of the tension easing out of his body. Alessa sighed. "I am not, however, eager to do battle with a dragon." She met Alistair's eyes, the unspoken 'yet' hanging heavily between them.

"It seems to be asleep," Leliana said tentatively, gazing up at the peak. "Perhaps we could simply... sneak past?"

Alessa peered dubiously around the pillar. "That would be _incredibly_ risky." She sighed heavily. "But I don't see that we have a lot of choice. We need to get over there, I'm sure of it."

"Allow me to go first," Zevran offered. "I can get closer and ascertain whether the beast is truly asleep. If it is safe, I will signal you."

"No." Alessa shook her head. "I'm not risking anyone out there on their own." She looked round at her companions. "If anyone is unwilling to do this, I will not think any the less of you if you remain here."

"Not a chance." Alistair's response was immediate and emphatic, and the sentiment was echoed by the others.

Alessa smiled gratefully at them all. "Then we go together." She grinned. "And quietly!"

Rather than striking out directly across the plateau, which would leave them dreadfully exposed should the dragon wake while they were halfway across, she led them around the edge. They stayed near the rocky walls, keeping to the shadows and picking their way carefully to minimise the sounds of their passage as they circled cautiously around the plateau.

Alessa held her breath again as they neared the peak where the dragon slumbered, expecting to hear its shriek at any moment. But their luck held, and they reached their destination without incident; looking back as she walked through the doorway, she saw the dragon still curled up, oblivious to their presence.

oOo

The hallway showed none of the signs of age and ruin that the first temple had, but it was also markedly less ornate. There were no carved pillars here, no discolouration on the walls suggesting hangings or paintings; the corridor was functional, and nothing more.

The sole exception to this stood at the end of the corridor, where it turned at a sharp angle, leading deeper into the mountain. In the corner was a simple statue of a woman with a face both familiar and not. It was unmistakeably a representation of Andraste, having much in common with statues of Her that Alessa had seen in every chantry she had ever been in – and yet somehow it was distinctly different too.

"It is beautiful," Leliana breathed. "So real – it is as if the sculptor had actually _known_ her."

Morrigan sniffed, somehow managing to convey scepticism, disdain and indifference all at once in the sound.

Alessa looked again, and saw what Leliana meant. Every representation of Andraste she had ever seen had suggested a strong, beautiful warrior, but without any distinctive features – how could they, when no-one truly knew what Andraste had looked like? Every statue, every painting or drawing was of necessity simply based on those that had come before.

But this statue bore details that had belonged to a real person: a strong jaw; a high, determined brow; a sad smile; a small scar on one cheek; strands of hair that had escaped from the binding at the nape of her neck.

"That's impossible," Alistair protested. "It can't be that old, it's in perfect condition..."

Leliana turned to him. "I do not think that applies here. This place is _old_; do you not feel it?"

Alistair shrugged uneasily, but Alessa was inclined to agree with her friend; there was a feeling of timelessness here. She wondered what else might be hidden away in this place.

_The Urn of Sacred Ashes, Maker willing._

"Old indeed," Morrigan agreed unexpectedly. "There is certainly magic at work here."

Alessa frowned. "What do you mean?"

"'Tis plain to see, is it not?" The apostate looked at their confused faces, and sighed. "Have none of you wondered about the light?"

Alistair's stunned expression reflected Alessa's own reaction. The light in the corridor had seemed so natural that she hadn't even given it a moment's thought. But there were no torches in sight, no evidence of any source for the illumination. There weren't even any shadows. It was as if the soft light emanated from everywhere, and from nowhere.

"Well, that's new," Alistair commented dryly.

"And inconvenient," murmured Zevran. "Let us hope there is no need for subterfuge. Sneaking around becomes much more troublesome without shadows in which to lurk." He winked at Leliana, and she blushed faintly.

"It also makes it harder for anyone else to sneak up on us," Alistair pointed out.

Zevran inclined his head. "Also true, my friend." He sighed. "Although if magic is at work here..."

Alessa shook her head. "There's little point in speculation. We just need to stay alert; there's no telling who, or what, we may meet in here."

Leliana peered down the corridor, her keen eyes narrowly focussed. "I do not think we will have to wait long to find out."

Following her gaze, Alessa saw that in the distance the corridor opened out into a room; in the very middle of the room, making no attempt to conceal himself from them, stood a figure in gleaming silver armour. She frowned; how had she not noticed him before?

Warily, Alessa led her party down the corridor. The man watched them approach without any hint of reaction, simply waiting for them to enter the room. He appeared to be a man in his middle years, yet his eyes spoke of the wisdom of the ages. His face seemed both kindly and stern. His voice, when he greeted Alessa, was deep and resonant.

"I bid you welcome, pilgrim." 

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A/N: Well, it's been a while. I am sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter; things seem to have gotten on top of me of late, and time for writing (and reading) has slipped away from me. I must confess that I've also been somewhat distracted by Dragon Age 2 in recent weeks... but I suspect many of you can relate to that. :)

_I can't promise that updates will go back to their original frequency, but I sincerely hope not to keep you waiting quite as long for the next chapter..._

_To everyone that has stuck with me this far – it's all of you that have kept me writing this story, when I'll admit it's been tempting at times to simply walk away. The feedback I get here, whether it's reviews, alerts or simply knowing people have taken a look at the story, make it all worth while. So thank you, dear readers, you are my motivation!_


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